


What He Wants

by writingramblr



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Alice in Wonderland Fusion, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Alternate Universe - Noir, Alternate Universe - Pirates of the Caribbean Fusion, Alternate Universe - Silence of the Lambs Fusion, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Fusion, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Catholic Irreverence, Church Sex, Eventual Romance, F/M, Film Noir, Hate to Love, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Mermaids, Mind Games, More tags to be added, My fair lady alternate universe, Oops, Pirates and Mermaids, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Potterverse, Priest Kink, Religious Conflict, Romance, Serial Killers, Sex bartering, Sexual Experimentation, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Sharing a Bed, Silence of the Lambs References, Wizarding Wars, all the aus and cliches look out, problematic fave, prompts from tumblr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-07-22 09:00:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 65,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7428439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingramblr/pseuds/writingramblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Petyr and Sansa stories across various universes and alternate plot lines. Some from tumblr graphics some from other prompts.</p><p> </p><p>Don't be misled by the title, they BOTH want each other very badly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Temptation Cove

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Darkness in Our Souls](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7302046) by [etherina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/etherina/pseuds/etherina). 
  * Inspired by [Compassion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3537176) by [shadow13](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow13/pseuds/shadow13). 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All thanks to my twisted mind.  
> inspiration for this : http://queengallaghr.tumblr.com/post/120140805782/

Her hair swirls underwater, like liquid fire as sunlight pierces it, where some of her sisters have dark or golden hair, she is the only one with scarlet, and she thinks it makes her unique.

While she is right, it also makes her stand out, and she's caught the attention of a man, no mere mortal who swoons over the sirens of the sea, but the fearsome pirate Lord Baelish, maester of coin to the current Pirate King, Jon Snow.

North, where the waters run colder, so cold they should be frozen but for their sheer mass and the quantity of salt, she's heard stories of the king.

He's lived and died and lived again, supposedly due to black magick.

She's not sure how much stock she puts in these tales, merely because the blonde mermaid who told her has a small fascination with the king.

Dany has had her share of lovers, sometimes human, sometimes merpeople, but Sansa cannot judge her too harshly, she was born the other half of a twinset, and was lucky enough to outlive her other half, who died on account of his madness.

When Sansa does breach the surface, and feels the warm sun on her face, she only keeps her eyes shut a moment before turning to the outskirts of the cove, spotting a familiar ship instantly.

It is him.

The Pirate Lord with the sneer sharp enough to cut through any lie, and hair the color of ash and smoke.

She would be afraid if she didn't trust that she could kill him quite easily. He is only a mere man after all, and men do not breathe underwater.

She smiles to herself, and then swims to a rock, pulls herself upon it, and begins to sing. She knows he will not be lured, but he will listen.

*

 Petyr draws out his telescope, and turns his eye from the horizon to the Mermaids Cove, dangerous as it may be to enter, observing is no such risk.

There she was...the maid with the hair like light through a ruby, and skin paler than cream.

She was singing too, and Petyr suddenly ached to be close enough to hear her, though it could easily be his doom.

He didn't think he'd mind.

If he could die in her arms, he'd die quite happily.

 It wasn't a difficult choice, but it was a foolish one.

So as he began to do his best to fulfill his sudden wish, Petyr blamed the sheer amount of rum he'd consumed that night, when he borrowed a boat, and began to row into the cove, under cover of dead of night, and with only the slice of the silver moon in the sky to guide him.

He wanted her at his side, even for a moment.

"Come out come out, where is the siren with the red hair?"

Petyr called out, hoping he didn't sound as drunk as he felt.

Moments passed, and the only sound he could hear was the slow lapping of the sea against the side of his little boat.

He was fully prepared to continue to shore, and crash upon the sand and sleep the blurred night of his failure away...but then he heard something, like the sighing of an angel.

 Petyr turned around slowly, to the back of the boat, and spotted something in the distance.

"Is it you?"

He asked, his voice falling to a hushed whisper.

The object moved closer, and his forced his eyes to focus.

Her red hair was slicked back, but her eyes seemed to glitter in the darkness at him,

 "Curious Pirate, you're in dangerous waters."

Petyr could have laughed aloud, but he sensed that would be the wrong thing to do.

"Sweetling, I've come to see you, only you. I mean you no harm. I wish only to speak to you."

The siren licked her lips, and drew closer, close enough to reach out and touch his boat, and he knew, if he made one wrong move, she'd flip him over, and drown him before he could call for help.

"You've been watching me from a distance."

She said, her gaze roving him with her own curiosity.

His shirt gaped in the front, and he knew she would probably notice his scar before anything else.

Women usually did.

"I have. But the only way you could know this is if you looked back...hmm?"

He smirked, and was rewarded with a half smile of her own.

"Indeed. I sang for you, and I hoped you'd come to me."

Petyr cocked a brow,

"So this is not a problem? My coming here?"

She shook her head,

"I am the only one who ventures above water after nightfall, when pirates are parked about the Cove, so fear not. Truly we are alone."

Petyr leaned just slightly closer to her,

 "Does that mean you'll sing for me now?"

 "If I sing, you will not be able to resist me. You will follow me to your death if it means I keep singing...do you understand?"

 Petyr did.

"Can you go upon land? I can row ashore, and there I will not be motivated to move for all the gold in the world."

The mermaid frowned, her red brows pinching upon her forehead,

"What do you mean? I've never been resisted before..."

Petyr smiled lazily,

"I assure you, I am nothing like any man you've had before."

"Very well. I shall follow you. No tricks...or you will not see the sunrise again."

Petyr nodded slowly,

"I understand."

*

 Sansa was cautious, always, but she felt a strange allure to the pirate himself, despite the fact she was not supposed to be the one facing temptation.

The man rowed ashore, and then moved from his boat almost as if underwater himself, so smooth and elegant was his movements. Sansa slipped closer and closer to the sand, feeling the telltale tingling at the base of her spine.

Her tail began to ache, and the one part of her started to become two.

Within a few moments, the transformation was complete, and she could step out of the waves, and join the pirate beside his breeched boat.

"How did you do that?"

He asked softly, eyes drinking in her newly created form, and she smiled,

"It is my best kept secret. All mermaids can be upon land...but only for a short time. It is a curse as much as a blessing."

The pirate sighed, and his hand was reaching for her, seemingly before he could stop himself, but Sansa held strong, and did not flinch away.

She wanted to see what he would do.

He touched a strand of her now drying hair, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger, and stroked it slowly, thoughtfully almost.

"Beautiful...You are truly incredible. I don't think you would need a voice to bewitch a man's soul."

 Sansa knew she was blushing, so she was grateful for the dim light of the moon.

"You're very kind for a pirate...."

He smiled, perhaps with a touch of sadness,

"Please...Call me Petyr. May I have your name?"

Sansa considered for a moment denying him that privilege, but she could not when he turned the full power of his green grey eyes onto her own eyes, seeming to lay her bare before him, though she already was.

Perhaps it was why he thought her beautiful.

In her normal form, she wore nothing but her hair to cover her womanly chest, and as she was on land, she was completely naked.

She'd seen his chest heave as his breathing sped up, but he'd been kind so far to not ogle her, truly.

"Yes. I am Sansa. Siren of the Starks."

Petyr licked his lips, and did let his gaze drop to study the rest of her, but only briefly.

 

 "Sansa...you do make it difficult for me to form words proper, and not simply dissolve into a man of pure lustful intent. That is quite the accomplishment, as I consider myself above mere carnality."

Sansa shifted, closer to him, but also so that her legs concealed her new cleft between them.

She was still unaccustomed to it, for she had only been ashore twice in her life.

"Shall I sing now?"

Petyr nodded,

"Please."

*

Petyr disliked a great many things of the world, least of which how many men became slaves to women, or the pursuit thereof, but when it came to Sansa, he decided he would not mind being under her power.

Seeing her emerge from the sea utterly bare, but for what her long crimson hair covered, was more than even he could bear.

 In his inebriated state, he feared for what he might say, or do, if allowed the opportunity.

He was already painfully hard inside his breeches, and he hadn't even touched her yet, but for her hair.

The moment she got closer, and opened her perfect pink lips to sing for him, he swore he might be able to come without her ever touching him.

"Sansa..."

He found himself breathing out a sigh, and she paused, looking at him with her eyes widened,

"Yes? Are you hurt?"

Her eyes had landed upon his scar, which went from his collarbone down to below his navel, which she could not see, and he nearly laughed again.

For if she was to ask to touch that, he would never deny her.

 "No, not at all. That is a long healed wound. But I do fear I may expire of something if you do not allow me to kiss you. May I?"

She looked surprised for only a moment, before leaning in, letting her hair brush over his bare arm, and she smiled, her lips inches from his,

 "If I truly arouse your passions with just my voice, I wonder what a kiss will do?"

Petyr didn't bother answering with words, he simply wrapped his arms around her, and drew her the rest of the way to him.

Fierce was the way he fought and did deals with other pirates or criminals, and it was usually how he acted with lovers, but for some reason, with her, he was glad to take his time, and gently work up from a slow slip and slid of lips to a more passionate press and biting sort of kiss.

Sansa, for her part, was clearly enjoying herself, and he heard a small whimper escape her lips as the kiss broke for him to catch his breath.

"Was that to your liking sweetling?"

Petyr asked, and when his hands slid down the length of her back, stopping just short of the curve of her bare buttocks, she jumped slightly.

"Yes."

 She sighed, and he smirked.

 "I'm grateful to hear I'm not the only one in a state fit to be fucked."

The final word seemed to confuse her, and he could have bit his tongue for being so blunt and simultaneously so reckless.

Indeed, he wanted nothing more than to take her on the sand, right there and then, but despite many reasons why he should not, the most pressing of which was she had not yet told him she would like to, he was still blessed with favor that she had not yet simply fled him.

"Is that why this is so hard against me?"

She mused, a hand suddenly slipping between their bodies, to brush over his cloth covered erection. Petyr bucked up against her palm before he could stop himself.

"In a manner of speaking, yes. But it needs nothing. I do not want you to do anything you do not wish to."

Though he could not help but picture it, in his mind’s eye, and wonder how he would compare to the salty taste of the sea, which surely she was quite familiar with.

 She seemed to be curious, and perhaps she did not know much about relations between humans, and even, humans and mermaids.

"Does it feel like a fever? Threatening to set you ablaze?"

Petyr looked at her, and saw something like quiet desperation in her expression.

Was it possible he aroused her too? And as such, it was an unfamiliar feeling for her?

"Somewhat...When a man finds his pleasure, it then feels like a release, the crashing of a wave on a shore of bliss. It is difficult to explain any other way....for a maiden such as yourself, I could not attempt to describe it. It is very different for a woman to reach her climax, tis more like a slow burn, very like a fever."

Sansa pushed a hand to his chest, forcing him to lie back on the warm sand, and she leaned over him,

 

"Please, I want that. I want you to give me that. I'll give you what you desire and need in return."

 Her hand rubbed over his achingly hard cock more insistently and Petyr stifled a groan,

"Sweetling, it is possible for us both to achieve that, but it will be much faster for me than you, especially if you continue to do what you are doing with your hand."

Perhaps it was foolish and he was reverting to boyhood, but he easily felt he could come beneath her touch without even the use of her mouth in a very few short moments.

She looked very intrigued, and immediately stopped moving her hand.

"All right…show me."

 Petyr reached up first to stroke her cheek, and marveled at the way she nuzzled against his palm, before he slid his fingers down the line of her neck, to her collarbone, then into the valley between her breasts, before slowly tracing a single fingertip past her navel, halting right above the small thatch of curls that matched the hue of her hair.

“I do not wish to simply dive in, for you will need some preparation...most maidens do."

With his other hand, he again cupped her cheek, and pulled her down with the express mission of kissing her, distracting her somewhat.

For although he loved being commanded, he preferred to let a woman's pleasure take her by surprise.

*

 Sansa was having a better time than she could have dreamed, she was poised over the beautiful and handsome pirate, and he had promised to show her exactly what she'd been craving for so long.

All her other sisters constantly spoke of it, sung its praises, but insisted that only men were able to grant it.

She was perplexed, constantly.

Surely the reason they existed was not to seek out men, or mermen, to give them the stuff of life?

When Petyr's hand reached the cleft between her legs, she couldn't restrain a gasp from leaving her lips, but he eagerly drank it down, kissing her all the more roughly, his tongue swiping between her lips, stealing away any further noises.

His fingers pressed inside her, one at a time, slowly opening her up, like the blooming of a flower or the unfurling of a birds wings.

She'd observed many a colorful creature upon the islands trees, but never in her life had she felt like this.

His rough and calloused hand provided excellent friction on her soft skin, and when his thumb brushed across the bud right below and in between her legs, she bucked against him.

 She could feel him smiling against her mouth.

 He bit her lip before breaking the kiss to speak,

"That is the pleasure center, the trigger to end the fever, and bring you the most delicious peace."

 Sansa found herself begging for him to keep going, and she never begged a day in her life.

So he did.

 *

As Petyr felt Sansa beginning to reach the throes of her orgasm, he kissed her deeply, thrusting his tongue in and out of her mouth, a crude imitation of what he’d like to do to her, but with her other set of lips.

She whimpered against him, biting his lip suddenly as her thighs tightened around his hand, nearly forcing him to stop, but luckily he’d experienced such a thing before, and continued to work her despite the attempted halt of his movements.

He felt her flutter around his fingers, and she broke the kiss with a loud gasp, coming undone, and as she did so, she gripped his shoulder with such strength had he not had his shirt on surely she would have drawn blood.

“How was that sweetling?”

He finally asked, when he’d felt her aftershocks subsiding, and she was able to relax atop him, somewhat curled into his lap.

It only served to further stimulate his still hard cock, with her bare bottom rubbing and brushing against it, innocent as her move may have been.

Sansa’s voice was breathy and almost so soft he would have lost the words to the sea breeze had her mouth not been inches from his ear, as she rested her head on his shoulder,

“It was far beyond anything I could have dreamed. Thank you.”

“That was just a glimpse of what we could share…”

Petyr found himself murmuring back, and he swore she was smiling.

“I can’t say I’m not curious about that…but what about you?”

Her hand slipped down his chest from where she’d been gripping his shirt with a rather tight hold, and slid inside his trousers, finding his bare cock, and palming it.

Her innocent and gentle touch was enough to bring him back to full hardness, and her soft hands were like heaven on him.

“What about me?”

He asked, now feeling a bit breathless himself.

Sansa groaned and moved her hand faster, as if she was reading his mind.

“It feels so good… its hard and yet smooth and so very hot. I wonder, would you let me kiss it?”

Sansa looked at him with wide eyes, as if she’d just frightened herself with her courage for asking, and Petyr couldn’t hold back a smirk,

“You’re more than welcome to.”

So she did.

She shifted down his body, leaned up on her knees, and opened his trousers to have better access.

Her lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, and though the moon was horribly dim, Petyr swore he saw stars.

She set up a decent rhythm, with her hands stroking where her mouth could not reach, and he almost felt relaxed enough to lay back on the sand, but the simple fact was, he preferred to watch her.

Her hair fell around her face like a scarlet curtain, but for the very front, which provided a gap for him to see through to where her mouth was moving up and down on him, making the most obscene noises, but driving incredible waves of pleasure throughout his body.

It wasn’t long before he was grasping her shoulder, urging her to stop.

She looked almost disappointed, letting his cock fall from her mouth with a soft pop sound,

“What did I do wrong?”

Petyr shook his head,

“Nothing, nothing at all. In fact, you’re so good, I’m dangerously close to coming myself, and I know, after the drinking I’ve done, it would more than knock me out…make me sleep.” He added, at her confusion at the last sentence.

“Oh…I don’t mind.”

She leaned back down to suck him in again, and he nearly did fall back that time, in shock.

She really did want to make his fantasies come true. So when he came, shouting aloud, despite himself, it was her name on his lips.

She crawled back up the length of his body and pressed a gentle kiss to the side of his cheek.

“Sleep well my pirate.”

Indeed, his eyelids were already growing heavy, and the darkness seemed to seep in more with every passing moment.

He swore he felt her lay her head on his chest, just before he lost all coherent thought, and fell asleep.

*


	2. His Fair Lady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know my dear, those pretty lips of yours can be used in more than one way to steal a man’s affection, or attention.”
> 
>  
> 
> a sexier version of My Fair Lady with who else?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspirations:  
> http://petyrbaelishs.tumblr.com/post/147062222761  
> http://kingbae-lish.tumblr.com/post/147069659730  
> http://bae-banimal.tumblr.com/post/144325981746

Sansa was wandering around the market, in the big city, alone, as always, and she spotted a beautiful scarf.

She suspected she wouldn’t have nearly enough to pay for it, but did looking cost anything?

She didn’t think so.

It appeared the seller disagreed, and so she was shooed away, like a stray cat or dog, and she was left to sit on the curb of the sidewalk, arms folded, feeling very angry at the world and even herself.

Though it was hardly her fault for being an orphan, it certainly still came with far too many disadvantages. She’d been about to cross her legs, when a man tripped over her, nearly pushing her over in his haste to catch himself before hitting the pavement.

“Oi! Watch where you’re going mister fancy pants!”

She couldn’t help snapping at him, and when she bothered to look to see what sort of reaction she was going to get, she got lost.

Lost in the green almost grey, (likely from his suit) eyes staring back at her.

“I do apologize miss, but considering you’re sitting on the sidewalk, surely you expected there to be people walking by?”

Sansa rolled her eyes, instantly annoyed at the man, handsome or not,

“You didn’t have to _trip_ over me, there’s plenty of space on the other side of the walkway.”

The man looked on the verge of laughing, for his mouth curved upwards on one side, but the rest of him remained, stoic.

“I would not have usually taken this path, much less come to this market, but I saw something I needed to buy.”

Sansa sighed,

“Must be nice to have loads of your own money, so you can buy any little trinket you set your eyes on.”

The man paused before speaking, or daring to reply, as she thought of it, but instead of simply staring her down, he stared _down._

She’d never felt so naked in so many layers.

“I wish that were so…I don’t suppose you’d offer your services for a certain figure?”

Sansa gaped at him, open mouthed. She was dressed poorly, she knew that, but everything was covered from her head to her toes, for it was the middle of winter. He was still daring to suggest she was a prostitute?

“What the ever loving ‘ell? I’m not for sure mister fancy pants, NOT. AT.ALL.”

She shouted a bit too loud, but she was angry now.

The man took a quick look around and then back to her, and his mouth was still not-quite smiling.

“I see. I was mistaken. I apologize. Though you must admit, with an accent like that, you don’t sound like a trader or saleswoman.”

Sansa bristled.

“What the ‘ell is wrong with my voice?”

The man chuckled at last,

“You must forgive me, but sounding the way you do, puts you more or less in the same category of street rats.”

Sansa was _very_ angry now, so she got to her feet, delighted to find she was almost a whole two inches taller than him,

“I think I have a right to punch you in the face, insulting me like that, right to _my_ face.”

The man was still watching her, somewhat disconcertingly, like examining a specimen under a microscope, or something he’d found on the bottom of his shoe, could have been a coin, or just gum shaped like such, gone dark from the dirt in the street.

The man winced, and she instantly knew, he didn’t truly like confrontation, but he’d started it, and she was damn sure he would finish it with an apology.

“You know, I could help you with that, if you like.”

Sansa frowned,

“With wha’?

The man reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, and instead of smacking it off, or better, pulling back his fingers til they broke, she let him.

“Your speech, I could coach you, help you learn how to sound more befitting your true class. A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be living on the street anyway. I can also help you dress properly, not matter the weather, you could always look stylish.”

Sansa was about five seconds from saying no, or ‘Ell no, but then she considered,

“What would it cost me?

Nothing in the world came for free.

The man smiled,

“You would be a sort of philanthropic project for me, don’t worry about the money. Here’s my card. Come to this address if you decide you want to change your life.”

With that, he was setting a plain white card with black and green lettering into her hand, and then he was gone, having vanished into the crowd.

Sansa stood a few moments longer, examining the card, before collapsing on the curb again. She wasn’t sure she was ready to become someone’s pet project.

But despite the fact he could have yelled at her for being rude to him for his rudeness, or even hit her, he hadn’t. He’d been fairly kind, all things considered.

It was a damn shame such a handsome man was married, judging off the several rings he’d had on his right hand, but then again, perhaps they were a collection, showcasing and revealing he’d been married and divorced and never again.

She didn’t mean to be, but she’d become curious, she when she got home, to her little corner of an apartment complex just for people without true income, she began to pack all she had, just enough to fit in her only suitcase, before taking off outside again, the man’s card clutched in her palm.

‘Petyr Baelish – vocal and singing coach” It proclaimed in the bold font, and Sansa couldn’t help wondering, if she had a signing voice, would he help her tune that as well?

Or did his project only include improving her speech?

She came upon the home marked with the same number on the address blurb of Mister Baelish’s card, and after she approached the front door, she hesitated a good ten minutes before finally ringing the bell. She had a sinking feeling in her gut that maybe it had been all one cruel joke, played by someone who despised her…but no, Ramsey was dead. Finally not a threat anymore.

He’d died from a stomach virus after declaring dumpster diving was still the easiest way to get food.

That was his punishment for foolishness, Sansa thought.

Before she could dwell anymore, the door swung open, revealing Petyr’s not at all surprised face.

“Hello there…decided to accept my offer?”

Sansa nodded, unwilling to speak, to use her horrid speech around him any longer than she had to.

“Well excellent. You may go place your things in the guest bedroom,” With that said, he had already guided her into his house, and closed the door firmly behind them.

Sansa took a few seconds to truly drink in the beautiful architecture of the home, before Petyr spoke again,

“To the right of your room, for the time being, is a full private bath. If you’d like to clean up or wash up before we go over the lessons and rules, you may do so.”

Surely he wasn’t saying what she thought he was, that she looked dirty or grimy as she sounded, so she finally had to speak up,

“I think I will. It’s been so long since I’ve had hot water, but know this, I am not doing it to make you feel better, I’m doing it to make _myself_ feel better.”

He was probably smirking at her back the whole way she walked to her room, suitcase in hand.

*

The warm water was in fact more wonderful and relaxing than Sansa could ever remember it being. It had been a few months since the Lannisters had kicked her to the curb, forcing her to become exactly what Mister Baelish had called her, a gutter rat.

Maybe she’d never spoken as perfectly and as prim as Cersei Lannister, but her family had not been from the inner city, they’d lived happily in the country with no one criticizing their manner of speech.

As she leaned her head back against the edge of the porcelain, she heard a distant humming noise. It certainly wasn’t machine made, nor was it from outside.

She zeroed her gaze on the door directly across from her, whereas the door to the hallway and straight through which was her room was on her left, the second was an utter mystery.

“Hello?”

She called out, somewhat nervous, given her current state, and her confusion at whom else could possibly be in the house besides Mister Baelish.

  Instantly, the door across from her opened, revealing the familiar figure of Mister Baelish himself, who, shirtless, had been leaning over his own sink in his bathroom, which was technically attached to hers, but apparently he’d been unprepared with how to tell her that, and she spotted a gleam of silver in his hand, along with the white cream slathered on the sides of his cheeks, she realized he’d been humming while shaving off his minimal beard and mustache.

“Oh gods. I’m so sorry.”

Sansa stammered, and he looked at her, somewhat amused, for a half second, before his eyes dropped from her face to the rest of her, not exactly hidden with any manner of bubbles or foam, and he winced instantly, having jerked his other hand, and already there was a red line breaking through the pure white foam.

“It’s perfectly all right. I should have mentioned…this.”

He began to clean himself up, seemingly to have finished one pass around, and only gone back to make sure he hadn’t missed a spot.

Excepting the small cut on his chin on the right side, he looked twice as handsome, minus the facial hair. She tried not to stare at his bare chest for too long, but her eyes had instantly spotted an angry looking scar that nearly split him down the middle, having healed in a reddish pink color of skin.

Sansa grasped for anything to say that wouldn’t sound foolish, but instead her mind wandered returning to his lack of beard, noting the fact that she would have despised such a look on a man, as the only child her age of the Lannisters had been a veritable beast of a boy, always clean shaven because he could not seem to grow anything on his face but a look of contempt for her.

“How are you enjoying your bath, my lady?”

He gave her a wry wink, and Sansa felt herself blushing, even as she pulled her limbs around herself, trying her best to hide anything he shouldn’t see, though it was far too late for that, though he’d instantly looked away from her upon seeing only clear bathwater, her body had been burned into his brain.

“It’s very nice, thank you.”

“Are you ready to be out and begin your lessons?”

Sansa nodded, before posing a question that might have been deemed rude,

“Do you color your hair like that?”

He’d grown closer already, having swiped some kind of clear gel on his cut, and was holding her towel out to her, pointedly looking away.

“Silver and brown? No not at all. It is the unfortunate result of a stressful youth manifesting on the best time of my life.”

He was smiling, a little sadly, she thought, as she climbed out and gratefully accepted the offered towel. The soft fluffy fabric was actually warm, though she could not see what it had been setting on to become so.

“I’ll meet you in the library in a few moments. You’ll find a dress on your bed, which I think you’ll like.”

 

Now he was smirking again, and happily looking at the entirety of her, and though she was covered now by the towel, she still felt his eyes seeming to touch her all over.

*

Petyr tried to calm himself, catch his breath, and generally not look like the complete lecherous fool he’d seemed to become in the girl’s presence.

Once he’d returned to his own bedroom, he’d considered taking care of his problem, quickly and quietly, and she’d never have to know, but he decided it would be far worse to present a sweaty and flushed appearance than a severely aroused and composed one.

So he’d dressed in his usual black shirt, matching his black pants, and instead of his usual dark maroon jacket, his hand stumbled past it, and reached for the silvery chrome one. It usually made him look even greyer upon his head, so he naturally avoided it, but considering the way Sansa had remarked on it, he wondered if she actually liked it.

He arrived at the library before her, but only just.

He’d taken a seat behind his desk, in front of a very dull selection of books on history and language, and just turned to face the front doors when she walked in.

He thanked all the gods and stars above he’d chosen the desk chair for he needed the desk itself to hide behind.

She was wearing the dress he’d suggested, though he’d actually laid out three different dresses for her while she was lounging in the bath. One blue, with grey accents, one black, with a gold belt, and the final, which he’d placed in the middle, praying she’d chose it. It was a soft dusky rose, and had a copper colored belt. The color was shockingly reminiscent of the momentary glimpse of her breasts he’d caught, and more specifically, the peaked nipples gracing them.

“You look lovely my lady. Now, come closer, and tell me your name.”

She slowly walked over to his desk, still getting used to the length and weight of the dress, he guessed, and she folded her hands nervously in front of her waist, looking at the ground momentarily, before looking back up to meet his eyes, her own a bright and clear blue, and even her skin seemed to gleam, the bath had done her a lot of good it seemed.

“Sansa Stark, sir.”

As much as Petyr liked the idea of being addressed in that manner, it was not the time or place for such things. As her surname struck and stirred something in his distant memory, he spoke,

“Please, call me Petyr, and I’ll call you Sansa. We have no need for such formality inside these walls. When you become ready enough to be released into good society, we will return to surnames.”

As she nodded at once, sending her damp waves into motion slightly, he smiled wryly. Now he knew who she was. The eldest Stark girl. Daughter of his first love.

The woman had married a man technically below her station, and left the high life in the city to become a farmer’s wife.

Strangely, she’d adapted well to the life, and had nearly half a dozen children.

The unfortunate matter of her new husbands debt was forgiven and let slide for a while, until the Lannisters, the large banking clan and most influential family of the city and even the country, put out a hit on him, if he didn’t pay them back within a certain window.

It had been all over the news, splashed on the front page for a good week, until something more pressing occurred, some war in a nearby country, wildfires raging across the seas, things of that nature.

As luck would have had it, Sansa had been in the city, attending some sort of theater performance with friends, and when the farmhouse had been attacked, there’d been no survivors.

She’d returned to find a smoking husk of a house, and the Lannisters had offered to house her, never dropping a hint they’d been responsible for the hit.

Petyr decided he knew exactly what he’d do. He’d help build her up to a lady of high status, and she could go in and wreck havoc on the Lannisters, thus getting her revenge and being his most successful project of all time.

“Now, first you need to learn dictation. The proper pronunciation of a word.”

Thus the lessons began.

For the next couple weeks, Petyr taught her how to speak run on sentences, how to walk and talk, with heavy books over her head, or in her hands, and how to walk in heels.

He let her enjoy the long dresses every day, and the addition of challenging footwear granted an amusing result to watch.

Before she could ever trip, he was always right there, his hand upon her arm, grasping tightly over the satin and silk covered skin.

He imagined she’d feel just as smooth underneath the fabric, and continuously had to clear his mind of improper images. She was being sculpted now, being forged into the glorious and beautiful woman she had always had potential for.

When it came to her singing lessons, she excelled strangely well, and all her speech impediments seemed to fade away. Not that she had many left now.

Only under the influence of a few glasses of wine did anything ever slip.

He taught her to be careful not to drink before eating, and to always, always, sip water twice for every drink of wine.

After the one time she’d forgotten, and let herself get silly with drunkenness, he’d vowed to never let it happen again.

She’d let her head fall against his shoulder, and played with the sleeve of his jacket, a dark emerald one, that she mused was a couple shades darker than his eyes.

Her voice had gotten all breathy and soft and he’d gritted his teeth, the notion that now was the best time for her to be receptive to his attentions a dangerous voice he endeavored to squash like a meddlesome bug.

They were so close, to winning, to finishing the game, she’d done incredibly well on their first outing, just to a simple show at the theater, and when she’d spotted the Lannisters in their box across the way, he’d seen how her jaw tightened, and when he took her hand, soothing her with a stroke of his thumb over the back of her knuckles, it had been the easiest thing in the world.

But now, when she wanted to touch _him,_ he wouldn’t allow himself the pleasure.

Wouldn’t let the temptation ruin him and his work. Though his work was her, all her, for her, everything, it was far too valuable to sully it all now.

For a few moments of heaven.

*

He was pushing her away, Sansa could feel it.

For his own good probably he thought he was denying her.

But the fact of the matter was, she’d fallen in love with him. She knew he could probably never love her back, not how she wanted, but she was almost aching to touch him more than a brush of the hands, or the temporary ways he’d held her waist, helped her walk properly, or when he’d yanked her arm, stopped her midway down a hallway, out in the public eye, still his touch burned her, leaving invisible scars that she only wanted to add to. She wanted him to rip her open and put himself in her soul.

Ripping her dress off and pushing himself inside _her_ was the more likely occurrence, but none the less still appealing.

She burned for him so much, inside and out, she wondered if her hair might catch fire and become bright as the sun, so obvious it had to be.

She’d gotten close, very close, when she’d let him think she’d gotten drunk, and she could feel how _close_ he’d been to yielding, to letting himself enjoy her, but then his stupid ego had gotten in the way, forcing her to abandon her plans, but she’d delighted every second he’d held her, for he had carried her all the way to her room, his arms tight around her shoulders and beneath her legs, almost like he didn’t really want to let her go, leave her side, or admit to himself he _needed_ her just as she desperately wanted him.

When the dreaded day came, the evening of her greatest triumph, when she would attend the Lannisters personal, and private dinner party in their home, she watched as Petyr stood in the doorway of his home, eyes burning into her the entire walk down to the waiting taxi, and she thought about blowing him a kiss, but chickened out.

She didn’t want to anger him.

The evening passed in a blur, not from the alcohol, but from the simple fact that, without Petyr, Sansa’s every word and move simply reminded her of him, instructing her, and without him by her side, she felt like she was missing something, something vital, like an organ or a limb.

The world seemed to dull, and even colors didn’t seem as sharp, though the Lannisters home was gorgeous, and the people in it charming, she couldn’t wait to leave, to escape, to return to her dark and cool room across the hall from the bathroom attached to his.

She smiled gracefully and held meager conversation with the people who’d ruined her life and murdered her family, and they thought her a beautiful and mysterious woman of wealth, come to join their prestigious circle.

The entire thing was the furthest thing from the truth. In fact she was simply gathering Intel to feed to the assassin Petyr had put her in touch with.

A tall and broad dangerous looking man named Sandor Clegane, he’d get the job done, and she was sure.

The only thing that made her uneasy was the fact that his older brother had apparently done the hit on her family.

So murder ran in his family as much as the hearts of the Lannisters? She should have been repulsed, but at the moment, she was too bored and numb to feel anything.

When the hour finally arrived, and she could bid her polite farewells, there came an itch beneath her skin, and the familiar fever began to rush through her veins again.

He wasn’t expecting her to really return home, for that was what she thought of it as, her new home, as he’d given her express instructions to remain on the same side of town as the Lannisters, having already consigned an apartment for her, overlooking the same park the mansion of the Lions did.

The taxi driver didn’t seem surprised at her given address, so perhaps he wasn’t employed by Petyr.

She walked up to his door and used the key he had probably forgotten he gave her, entered the long hallway, and then made her way to her room first, to change, and wash for bed.

Laying the dress upon her bed carefully, so it wouldn’t wrinkle, she then walked to her bathroom, splashed water on her face, and glared at herself in the mirror,

“You can do this.”

Her pep talk was minimal, and pathetic, but it was what she needed.

Clad only in her black silk slip, she padded barefoot to the door that separated the rooms, and turned the handle slowly, opening the door to reveal Petyr himself, lounging in his bathtub, eyes closed to the world, as delicate classical music filled the room, coming from the radio sitting upon his bedside table.

The door to his room and bathroom was open wide, and thus the volume of the music meant he did not immediately notice her.

Sansa took full advantage of the moment, staring openly at him, drinking in the sight of the man before her, completely naked and unhidden from her.

She’d only ever seen him elegantly dressed, but for that one time when she’d first come to him, and now she could see the scar more clearly than ever, a jagged pink line that went all the way from the side of his neck to down to his navel.

“Petyr, I couldn’t stay away…I’m sorry.”

She wasn’t sure why she’d started like that, but his eyes snapped open instantly, and she found herself pinned under his gaze, like a butterfly trapped in glass.

His smile grew from a smirk to almost predatory.

“Sweetling, do you know how rude this is? Catching a man unawares in his bath?”

Sansa chose to play dumb, so she shook her head.

Clearly it had been the wrong thing to do.

The bathwater began to ripple, and then Petyr was lifting his arms, grasping the sides of the tub, and pulling himself up and stepped out, water sluicing off his skin to splash the floor in mild sheets, and Sansa was simply lost, staring with her jaw falling open slightly.

Never mind the scar on his body, the fact that he was fully hard and advancing on her more by the moment was enough to keep her stock still, frozen and speechless.

“Cat got your tongue? Or do you see something you want? Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to, coming in here like this, dressed like that, completely disobeying my orders to stay by the Lannisters…”

He clicked his tongue, and Sansa instantly came back to full alertness, forcing her eyes up to meet his,

“I had to see you, I couldn’t say goodbye like that, like earlier, wordless and impersonal.”

Petyr chuckled,

“I see, so you thought you’d come back, in the middle of the night, disturb me from sleep or something, and get your little point across?”

Sansa’s hands balled into fists before she could stop herself, and suddenly her vision tinted red. She’d never been violent in her life, but she wanted to hit him, very much. The entire thing was utter horse shit, she knew he wanted her, it was quite obvious, but why was he acting like this?

“You can’t frighten me off, so quit it.”

She finally hissed, hoping desperately she was playing the game right.

He snapped back to action, and reached out to grab her shoulders, pulling her to him with such sudden strength she nearly lost her balance, but the instant his lips met hers she melted and let him hold her.

Her own hands blindly moved, brushing over his still wet hips, and she grabbed on to hold him for dear life.

The kiss was her first, and yet she wanted nothing more than it to be her last. Him.

She never wanted to kiss anyone else.

His lips continued the brutal assault on her own, and she sighed into the kiss, letting her lips part, and his tongue slipped inside, finding her own and she could taste mint on him.

It was the many weeks and days all coming to a head, the tension snapped like a taut rubber band and Sansa could have cried from relief.

He nipped at her bottom lip with his sharp teeth and she whimpered.

“Tell me, is it everything you dreamed?”

He whispered, arms moving around to lock her completely in his embrace, water from his skin seeping into her slip, making it cling to her.

“Yes.”

Sansa sighed, and he might have growled,

“You delicious creature, you drive me mad with desire, you know that?”

Sansa hiccupped a giggle,

“I could guess.”

The insistent way his hard cock was pressing against her stomach was more than enough evidence.

He grinned,

“Seems like you’re wearing a bit too much, lovely as it is, mind if I destroy it?”

Sansa shook her head, and his hands, which had been splayed over her back, curled, grasping the fabric, and wrenching it from her skin in one swift movement.

The slip fell to the wet floor in tatters, and Sansa fought the urge to gasp.

She’d had no idea how strong he really was.

“Bed, I think.”

He said, almost thoughtfully, and she nodded at once.

There was little else she wanted in the world.

*

Petyr didn’t hesitate, when he had been presented with the opportunity. Sansa was indeed on the same page as he was, and the fact she’d been so perfectly wanton and open about her needs was enough to propel him to cloud nine.

She ended up wearing him out after the third bout of their fucking, and when he finally collapsed back onto his bed, with her panting beside him, he wondered why he’d put it off for so long.

She seemed to echo his thoughts, her fingers gently tracing over his scar,

“I wish you’d done that when you saw _me_ in the bath.”

Petyr cocked a brow at her, though she didn’t see. The only light was seeping in from the bathroom, which could use a good mopping, as he knew he’d spilled plenty of water.

“Would you really have been receptive to it, having just met me?”

Sansa giggled, a musical sound that he instantly took a liking to. It was an element close to her singing.

“I guess not…but you are so very handsome, I might have been convinced, with a glass of wine or two.”

Petyr scoffed,

“I prefer you to be sober of mind with me. Nothing is dulled, so you can feel and enjoy everything.”

Sansa leaned up on her elbow to actually look at him, for despite himself, his eyes were slipping shut more and more often,

“I want that. Every day. I don’t want to live in some apartment you bought me. I want to live here…if you’ll have me.”

Petyr used his last bit of energy to grin and roll over and pin her to the covers, gazing down at her in mild to severe adoration,

“I’ll have you every day and night if you like. Of course you can stay here.”

With that, he kissed her one final time, deep and slow, before falling asleep, his head upon her chest.

He stirred a few hours later, feeling her run her fingers through his still damp hair, perhaps in her sleep, and he smiled, comfortable for the first time in his own bed.

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one got long oops and is less smutty because honestly i've gotta save something for the Noir and Alice In Wonderland ya know?


	3. A Land all their Own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> inspirations : http://queengallaghr.tumblr.com/post/144731865182/  
> http://calypsocas.tumblr.com/post/120520896610/  
> soundtrack: https://youtu.be/tjRee6eNaPs?list=RDHhrq1GrY_RU  
> https://youtu.be/aHjpOzsQ9YI?list=RDak0kaFy6in8

 

Sansa has been coming to the giant tree covered in leaves the same shade of red as her hair for so many years, always with a new book, and her pet kitten, Lady.   
The wind has changed from hot and dry to cool and damp all of a sudden, and her fingers stick to the pages of her book.  
Lady mews softly, a storm is coming. She doesn't say it in so many words, but Sansa has always been able to understand her.

Her mother says she's imagining things and indeed, she has an active imagination, but she doesn't bother arguing the ridiculousness of speaking to animals.

Her little sister Arya pretended she could talk to the house dog Ghost just to annoy her, but Sansa was usually too lost in daydreams to notice.

Before she knew it, she had drifted off to sleep, and the soft fur of Lady nuzzling against her hand wasn't what woke her.

A giant thunderclap that sounded rather like a gunshot, was enough to do that.

Sansa shot upright like a bullet herself, and Lady yowled in mild fright.

The rains had begun sweeping over the land, but the tree above her was dense enough to keep her dry when it arrived.  
She would have run inside, having already picked up her book, and scooped Lady into her arms, but for a sudden dash of white and red across the lawn.

She squinted, for the storm clouds had blotted out the sun and lightening every few seconds was all she could see by.

It was a rabbit in a red and black waistcoat!

"Lady, do you see that?"

Lady loved chasing rabbits in the yard, but she was much too distracted and frightened by the storm to care.

With a particular loud squawl, Lady jumped from her arms and took off running towards the house, leaving Sansa alone, torn between following her or the rabbit.

*

Petyr Baelish, or better known as the Mad Hatter watched carefully the crystal ball in the corner of his office. Outside the tea party was raging on, but he'd grown bored of the same old chatter.

Mice and March hares were babbling on about the Red King and White Queen's upcoming alliance through marriage and all he wanted to know was who the mysterious scarlet haired maiden who had just slipped down Mister Rabbit’s hole-elevator was.

She was dressed in black and gold, and clung to a book of what looked like poems with desperation. She was new. A stranger.

Not since the blond haired girl had come to slay the bandersnatch and returned above Wunderland with the first Mad hatter had such a thing happened.

Petyr had taken over when the Red queen had been, retired, and he'd had no further need to sit on her council. The new King, her son, was quite delighted to see him go.

Finding the Hatters cottage was easy enough, and adopting the haphazard clan hadn't been hard. He consoled them with stories of the court, before the Queen had turned evil, and still adored her subjects.

The White Queen had asked him to work for her, but he had politely declined. He would serve no more nobility but himself.

The tea cup sitting at his side had long grown cold and his elbows sore from leaning on his desk.

He realized the girl had come close to his home, having followed the white rabbit so far, and now she was lost. He smiled to himself, and pushed away from his desk, moving to go step outside, snag her before she passed his gate.

*

Sansa looked up from her mild chase, for besides losing her balance and forgetting which way was up after falling down the rabbit hole, it seemed she had found herself on the outskirts of a land with a castle in the distance, and an oncoming storm of its own.

"Lost are you my dear?"

A smooth and dangerous sounding voice called out to her, causing her to turn so fast her hair swirled up and nearly blinded her for a moment. She reached up to brush it away and revealed a man clad in dark green and grey silks, arms crossed in front of his chest, watching her with a steady cool gaze.

"I think so yes. I'm afraid I don’t know where I am. I was following.... "

She trailed off, unsure if she wanted to sound foolish in front of such a handsome man, and the man smiled wryly,

"The White rabbit? No need to be embarrassed, you are not the first he's lured."

The man looked almost sympathetic and Sansa found herself relaxing slightly.

"Could you tell me where I am sir-" she paused, not certain how to address him.

"Petyr, please. Many call me the Mad Hatter, but I feel that name has many bad connotations."  
He looked rather sad now, as if remembering a distant event.

Sansa frowned slightly,  
"I don't mind sir, but I think it should be a bad thing to be called mad. You don’t look crazy..."

She trailed off, and stared at him, rather rude she knew and he simply stared back.  
"Thank you for that, but I'm afraid, here, we're all mad my dear."

Sansa blinked, once, twice, and then licked her lips before replying,  
"Isn't that generally a bad thing?"

The man, Petyr, tilted his head, before answering,

“I suppose that depends on your definition of bad. Would you like a cup of tea? You look cold.”

Sansa glanced down at herself, and she realized she was soaking wet, excepting her hair, she could have been caught in a downpour. How were just her clothes wet?

It was truly not worth thinking about, lest she go mad.

“Thank you, yes; I’d love a hot cup.”

And suddenly, he was at her side, his arm sliding around her waist, walking her and escorting her past the gate and towards the backyard, where a massive table lay, spread with many many cups and teapots and plates of treats.

Her eye zeroed in on the platter with bright and cheery lemon cakes.

They were her absolute favorite.

“How do you take your tea my dear?”

Despite the fact his little nickname for her should have irked her, she found herself prepared to ask him to call her by her name simply because, it was less intimate, and she really was unsure how ready she was too allow him such an intimate form of address.

“Sansa, please.”

Petyr smirked slightly, and paused in his pouring of her cup,

“Is that a new form of sugar and cream then?”

He looked to the other creatures seated around the table, and a few giggled here and there. Sansa was stunned, they really were mad.

Of course, they were also talking and gossiping among themselves, mice and hamsters and rabbits and hares. So perhaps she was the mad one.

“That’s my name.”

Sansa finally managed, before reaching for the cup, filled only with sweetly smelling tea, no cream or sugar having been added, that she knew of.

Petyr watched her carefully as she tried a sip, and she was glad to find it was not too hot to sting her tongue, but just warm enough to fight off the chill seeping into her bones.

“I see. Wonderful to make your acquaintance. Are you still feeling chilled?”

She was. She was also unsure if she wanted to admit it.

Things were already feeling rather funny, as if she’d indeed hit her head upon falling down the rabbit hole.

“Come now, you can’t lie to me…it’s written all over your face. Come; let me see if I can’t find you something else to wear.”

Sansa knew she should have stayed put, stayed sitting at the table surrounded by animals, strange as that all was, but she didn’t, she took his hand, placed her own upon it, and let him lead her into his house.

Before she could ask how he possibly had clothing fit for a woman, he was walking towards a set of stairs, and leading her up, further and further from the party, until she could not hear even the loudest of the creatures babbling.

“Where are we going?”

Petyr chuckled, low and soft, but somehow like a growl,

“You’ll see.”

Sansa pulled on his hand, trying to free herself, but she could do nothing it seemed, as if all her strength and power had left her.

The staircase became impossibly steep, and she found herself clinging to his arm, lest she fall backwards.

“Are you quite all right?”

He was asking, murmuring low, and she shook her head, unable to form full sentences or even attempt words.

The stairs ended, finally, and he led her into a room filled with vibrant colors, yet they all swirled together, forming a brilliant and bright rainbow, blurry as it was.

“What is your favorite color?”

He asked, trying again to draw a response, a real one, and Sansa just pointed, somewhat mildly to the center of the room, and he was smiling, appreciative,

“Ah yes, purple. That will look marvelous with your red hair. Please sit, I shall shake it out for you, ensure there are no wrinkles in the fabric.”

She sat down slowly, as if falling through water, and tried her best to focus on him, but he was gradually melting into the purple of the dress she’d chosen by pure chance and she started leaning backwards.

He was there, suddenly.

A hand was on the back of her neck, and the other was stroking her cheek, gently, so very gentle.

“My dear, are you all right? You look as if you have seen a ghost.”

He did sound concerned. Perhaps he hadn’t drugged her and she was imagining it all.

“Sir, Petyr, Mister Hatter, I apologize, but I don’t feel myself.”

He smiled, somewhat sadly, now looming over her rather, as she lay derelict upon the silks and satins piled on what could have been a bed,

“I never feel myself here. I know exactly what you mean.”

The distance between them was shrinking, or the room was, and when she closed her eyes for but a brief moment, she felt warm pressure on her lips.

She was being kissed.

Her eyes opened, slowly, fluttering like wings, and she saw him, on her.

He was kissing her.

Why didn’t she stop him?

She didn’t want to fight him off, but she knew she should. She hardly knew him, and she was letting him…oh, that felt rather good.

His mouth was hot and wet against hers, and something that could only be his tongue was pressing her lips apart, sliding between them, as his hand was hot on her waist, heat soaking past the damp feel of the fabric, and he was flicking apart the buttons, shifting the side zipper beneath her arm, and her dress was falling off it seemed.

She had a cream colored shift on beneath, so she wasn’t worried.

But soaked through as it was with rain, surely it was almost transparent?

The way he stopped the kiss and moved back to look answered the question.

His eyes were darkening more by the second.

“You’re incredibly beautiful, it’s almost a shame you can’t stay here.”

She frowned, confused.

But her own hands reached for him, grasping the sides of his jacket, wanting to rip it apart, move it from him, and put them more at evens than odds.

She found herself giggling at her own train of thought.

“Please…take it off.”

She said, not quite understanding herself, but seemingly, he did.

He stepped back and away, making her regret her request, as she missed his touch the second it was gone, but then he began to shuck off his jacket, revealing a fitted grey tunic beneath, outlining what seemed to be rather defined muscles for a simple tea party thrower, and she bit her lip.

“You’re handsome…forgive me for saying so.”

Petyr laughed quietly, before tossing his jacket aside,

“Don’t apologize for that, I appreciate your honesty. You’re too kind. I think we both know who possesses all the beauty here.”

He returned to touching her, blessedly, and she melted into his very hands it seemed, and just as he began to kiss her again, the darkness closed in, and she embraced it equally as tight.

*

Petyr felt the instant she went limp in his arms, and he sighed in annoyance.

That was why he didn’t let the March Hare brew the tea. He simply made it too strong for mere Wunderlandians. Much less for a stranger who was on their first time.

He pulled away from the girl, and carefully tucked a long velvet black cape around her, like a blanket, standing and staring at her sleeping form for only a moment, before scooping up his jacket and leaving the room, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could.

Who knew how long she would be out?

He returned to the party, and took a long sip from the closest cup of tea. He wanted the same sort of experience, to wipe from his mind just how delicious and right she’d felt in his arms and under his lips.

He couldn’t get involved and have feelings for an above grounder, it just wouldn’t do. After all, she wouldn’t be staying long, and when she did have to go home, he could not possibly go with her.

Back at the table, the time always seemed to run slower than it really was, and though Petyr did not carry a Wunderland pocket watch like the White Rabbit, who actually worked for the White Queen, he thought perhaps he might have to get one, and soon.

He felt a strange sort of itch in his body, as if a scaly creature was sliding over his skin, trying to get him to go somewhere, chase the sunrise, or follow the yellow path throughout the Land.

It was an unreliable path, more often than not; it led one where they needed to go, not where they wanted.

In Petyr’s case, the Hatter’s house had been both, so it had led him there quickly without much tomfoolery and he’d not even caught a glimpse of the Cheshire Cat. He had met the creature at the palace, several times, and heard rumors that it had attended the wedding for Alice and the original Hatter.

It was said to be one of few creatures that could travel between worlds…the other being the ever changing and metamorphing Caterpillar or Butterfly, sometimes depending on the weather, other times, depending on which form could inhale more smoke.

That was the only creature that Petyr really truly wanted to meet, and might just consider an adventure to go find.

As he looked around the party at the creatures, they seemed lost in their own world, chattering and cheering, clanking cups till they broke and spilled, and scooping up new ones shortly thereafter.

Petyr smiled wryly, they didn’t need him at all, and surely wouldn’t notice if he was gone for a few days.

His eyes lifted to his house, the top floor, and the round window perched upon in.

 _She_ was there still. She was still asleep, he was sure.

But not for long.

He palmed a small piece of ‘wake me up’ lemon cake, which he knew he remembered seeing her look at with interest, and then exited the party without incident or notice, just like he’d suspected, and began to climb the stairs inside.

The only difficult part was going to be getting her to eat the cake, while still quite fast asleep in a less than sober state.

Petyr halted in the doorway only a moment, simply watching her as she slept, for indeed, she was truly breathtaking as she laid there, hair spilled around her like a halo of liquid fire, long lashes brushing the apples of her cheeks, and lips pink as a fresh cut grapefruit.

Hm.

They didn’t eat those in Wunderland, too sour and not sweet enough. Why did he think of an Overland food?

He crept closer, after a few moments had passed, for no longer could he delay. Her chest rose and fell slowly as she breathed deeply, the breathe of sleep, and his eyes dropped to her cream colored slip. He would need to get her something else to wear, for her dress was not yet dry, hanging though it was in a slight breeze drifting through the Land. The purple one was far too heavy and warm, so he looked for something else, light and airy,  that would go with her slip.

“White Lace.” He murmured to himself, pausing only a moment in his path to her side, plucking up a sundress that matched the exact color specification. The color would enhance the perfect smooth paleness of her skin and not compete with her hair like her old dress had, it was also strapless, so much more of that skin would be visible, mostly for him, selfishly he wanted her to know that he thought her beautiful enough to show off, but if anyone else dared say anything, he’d have no problem cursing them.

Finally he’d reached her side, and he hesitated a final moment more, before falling to one bended knee, leaning over, and kissing her.

Slowly and carefully he parted her lips with his tongue, and pulled back, just so that he could place a small bit of the lemon cake upon her tongue, and let it do its magic.

Five seconds passed, before her eyelids began to flutter, revealing once more the clear blue beneath.

“Petyr?”

She frowned, and he nodded.

“Did I fall asleep?”

“Yes my dear, you did. But not for long. Here, eat the rest of this, you’ll feel better. When you’re ready to sit up, I have this for you.”

He held up the dress with his other hand, and noticed how her eyes widened upon the sight of it, even as she accepted the rest of the lemon cake from his outstretched palm.

Once she’d finished, and begun to step into the dress, she spoke again, driving an icy dagger into his heart,

“I think I’d like to go home now, please?”

Petyr clasped his hands in front of his chest, and nodded, smile tight,

“Of course. I’d be happy to escort you back to the proper path. It’s only a half hour’s journey.”

It was a lie.

He didn’t even know what the proper path was for her, the White Rabbit changed his route every morning, or afternoon, or evening, whichever he went for the Queen’s orders.

The fact of the matter was, fact or not, he really wanted to hold her hand, walk with her, talk with her, and learn everything he could about her.

Once she was dressed and more than ready to depart, Petyr offered his arm, and she took it, secretly delighting and thrilling him.

Though his own arm was covered with brownish green wool, he still imagined he could feel the cool press of her bare skin on his.

She would be able to put out the fever threatening to drown him, he knew it.

“Shouldn’t there be a path here?”

Sansa was pointing the direction whence she’d originally come, and the path had indeed been brushed clean since, and there was now two diverging paths, one into the forest, and the other towards the castle. Certainly he did not wish to see the White Queen, so he began to lead her to the forest, as it was really the only way to go. One did not walk off the path.

He told her as much, and she looked rather confused for a moment, for indeed, he did not quite answer her question, not at all.

The forest was a bit darker as they entered it, but then again, the trees were obscuring what little sunlight remained, and Petyr wondered if he imagined that Sansa clung to his arm a bit tighter.

Not quite paying attention to where he was going with the path, Petyr stepped on a twig, snapping it loudly, causing a flock of nearby birds to take flight, Sansa shrieked before falling silent once again.

“What was that?”

Petyr grinned, noting the reflection of the minimal light over the creatures faces.

“Those are look-at-me’s and I think there’s a stray who-goes-there bird.”

That was the Land’s name for Owl’s; with eyes so big they might have been their entire head, and only one word on their mouths.

But how did he know that?

Perhaps Sansa’s above Ground ness was wearing off on him.

They’d continued on for a quite ways more when suddenly Sansa squeezed his arm so hard it nearly hurt, had she been a little stronger.

“My book! I left it back at the house.”

She turned around, fully prepared to start back, but then gasped.

The path ended where their backs were.

 

Petyr smiled grimly,

“I’m afraid we cannot go back. We must keep going on.”

Sansa whirled to face him, something like horror in those blue eyes,

“But your home! How will you get home?”

Petyr shrugged,

“I suspect I’ll end up back there eventually.”

Sansa was still clinging to him, very fiercely, and as much as he disliked seeing her in distress, he really liked how it made her gravitate to him.

“But…but…”

She trailed off, looking ahead and her jaw dropped as she remained silent.

Petyr turned to follow her gaze, and already suspected what he might find.

Indeed, yellow eyes inside pink and purple and blue and grey, all swirling together to form an unusually large cat, at least for her mind surely.

“Hellooo-ooo-ooo-ooo there friends…are you lost?”

Petyr fought the urge to roll his eyes at the sheer dramatics, but Sansa pressed forward, only her hand still linked with him, thus pulling him forward.

Well, curious was always better than scared.

He followed.

*

Sansa was beyond curious, she was enraptured.

Such a strange little creature, that was closest to a cat in her mind, yet somehow nothing like she’d ever seen before.

He seemed to float in the air above the branch he should have been perched on, and his smile was so wide it reminded her of the moon in its final phase.

“What’s your name?”

She finally asked, when she’d gotten as close to the tree as she could without falling backwards, and even then she was more than certain Petyr would have caught her.

He’d practically put her in a wedding dress, above knee length or not, she wasn’t stupid, she could read it all over his face. He was fond of her.

That had to be why he didn’t care about not getting home right away.

“I am a thing of many names child…but you may call me-e-e-e the Cheshire Cat.”

Another enigmatic smile, that seemed to threaten to split his head in two, and his eyes swerved to look at Petyr,

“Hatter-er-er-er-er, so lovely to see you out and about after your relocation. The King sends his regards.”

At this, the cat fell into a fit of what had to be giggles, but they sounded just like cat hisses, only less menacing.

Sansa turned back to look at Petyr, a question on her lips, but she was yet again unsure if it was rude or not.

She decided to shelve it for another time, when they were once again alone.

“Tell him I look forward to my invitation to the royal wedding, and even without one, I’ll be there.”

Petyr answered smoothly, and the cat actually looked concerned for a moment, before indeed melting onto the branch and beginning to slowly dissolve.

“I will be sure to doo-oo-oo-oo-oo that. Good day to you.”

The last thing that remained of the cat was his smile, until it too had faded into nothingness.

Sansa couldn’t help feeling a sense of foreboding sweep through her.

“What was he talking about? The king sends his regards? Did you once serve a king?”

Petyr looked as if he’d tasted something sour,

“Once upon a time my dear. What feels like a lifetime ago. Never mind that, we need to get you home, remember?”

Sansa couldn’t easily forget that, and when she felt Petyr squeeze her hand gently in his, before stroking his thumb over her knuckles, she relaxed, just a bit, and they kept walking.

The forest grew darker before it lightened, and at one point, Sansa could hardly see three feet in front of her, so she let Petyr lead, and she actually swore she could feel something like branches brushing over her body, or maybe it was some kind of horrible creature that decided she wasn’t worth eating, or they didn’t feel like battling Petyr.

Nevertheless, when they finally emerged into a clearing, filled with a slight haze of rainbow smoke, Sansa glanced down at herself in dismay.

The white lace dress she’d been wearing was smudged and smeared with red and blue streaks that looked like they could be paint or even blood, yet she was unharmed.

It had originally reached only her knees, but now, with scraps and tatters hanging from places, revealing stretches of skin, along her right and left thighs, it nearly brushed over the tops of her feet.

Luckily the neckline was indeed untouched and unmarred, and yet Sansa still felt like some sort of walking contradiction. She was falling to pieces, yet held together by lace.

Petyr instantly noticed and rushed to her, from where he’d been attempting to part the smoke and see exactly which way the path continued, for it had morphed into a large circle of yellow under their feet, with no singular paths obvious and visible.

“Are you all right?”

He was clearly concerned, yet she noticed how his gaze dipped down to past her waist, clearly eyeing the bits of skin newly revealed.

His hands were warm and gentle and steady on her shoulders, and she found herself nodding, despite the urge to shake and shiver and maybe even pass out from fear.

“I think so.” She said shakily, and he sighed.

“I’m sorry. I should have been thinking. The forest squirrel-nail and hammer-vers love to have new bits and pieces for their nests, so they must have ripped your dress, wishing for the lace to decorate for their new coming babies.

It is nearly spring in Wunderland.”

He finished, with a sad sort of smile, and Sansa felt a little better, less concerned she could have been attacked, and more aware that it was simply a mild inconvenience.

“What’s the color from?”

Petyr let one of his hands graze down the side of her waist, and it was as if his fingers were afire, setting her alight, until he did actually touch a bit of bare skin, where a creature had ripped away a piece at her hip.

“They have the most brightly colored beaks…as they touched you, the color rubbed off. If it had not been so dark, you could have seen them.”

Sansa found herself holding her breath in anticipation, and when Petyr stepped closer, letting his other hand fall to frame her waist on the opposite side as the other, which was gently tracing circles on the bared skin, she let her eyes close.

She could smell his breath, minty and sweet upon her cheek, and she wondered if he was really going to kiss her or just tease her.

“Oh do please stop torturing the girl Petyr.”

A voice, smooth and slimy as a snake, wound through the haze surrounding them, and Sansa felt Petyr’s hands tighten on her, nails pinching slightly against her skin, and she gasped, opening her eyes to see who’d spoken.

What, was more accurate.

Just a few feet in front of them, sat a large fat golden caterpillar, upon what looked like a bright purple mushroom, holding a long thing pipe in its hand, (hands?) which led to a large bowl of something shiny that was also burning.

He was smoking something that created the rainbow smoke slowly dissipating around them.

“It’s the mushroom that he’s smoking.”

Petyr leaned in to her ear to whisper, but his lips didn’t _q.u.i.t.e._ touch her skin.

It was as if she’d been struck by lightning, so electric did she feel, as if one spark could be enough to set her off.

But Petyr had left her, hands dropped the hold on her, and he was approaching the enormous caterpillar, something like a smirk on his face.

“Varys, please tell me you haven’t been spying on me all day.”

The caterpillar, so called Varys by Petyr, rolled his eyes and took an absurdly long puff on the pipe.

When he exhaled, the smoke was green and formed the word ‘Never’

“You know I have better people to see and things to do in my time.”

Petyr didn’t look convinced, at least from where Sansa stood, but she decided she would get in on the conversation.

“Why did you say he was torturing me? He’s done no such thing.”

She side eyed Petyr for a moment, only long enough to catch that he looked indeed, somewhat remorseful and sad, before looking to the caterpillar to see what he’d say.

Another puff, and this time white smoke forming an ‘Oh’

“Then you have no feelings for him, indifferent or otherwise?”

If Sansa didn’t know better, she’d think the creature was implying that Petyr _did_ have feelings for her. Then again, it wasn’t every day that such a handsome man tried to kiss her, and looked at her like she’d hung the stars. She pondered that perhaps where she was, real people did actually hang stars for a living.

“I-“

She paused, quite unsure and lost on what to say.

Before she could think of exactly how to answer, Petyr had left her peripheral vision, and she felt his hands on her waist. He was behind her.

“Tell him the truth, lest he have to read your mind.”

He whispered, before finally doing what she’d wanted all along, letting his lips make contact with her skin, and how he did so, roughly sucking the skin below her ear, and biting then licking and soothing was just enough to make her knees grow weak.

“I do have feelings for you, though you’re still somewhat a stranger.”

She sighed, and swore he bit and nipped at her lower neck and collarbone as a reply.

Her eyes truly did fall shut, and she didn’t see the caterpillar exhale directly upon her face, red smoke.

She breathed deeply as Petyr grasped her hips again, and spun her around swiftly to face him, so that he could kiss her on the mouth.

The smoke had twirled inside her lungs and spun her senses, and up was down and sideways and all she wanted was to kiss Petyr forever.

He groaned into her mouth, against the kiss, and she felt something press insistently against her hip, hot, hard, and the feeling sent a spark traveling down her spine, circling through back until it slipped between her legs.

He was doing something just right, she was feeling more than aroused, she was desperate with need for him.

“Petyr please…”

Her hands lit upon his chest, and she found she was lying atop him on the ground, soft as a bed as it was, she couldn’t help but wonder when they’d fallen.

He was staring up at her, green eyes somewhat darkened by what had to be desire.

“Yes my sweet?”

He was smirking, and when he pulled her against him, his hands on her hips, guiding her center right over his groin, she knew exactly what it was that she’d felt earlier.

She flushed and her cheeks surely were afire.

Never had she elicited such a reaction in a man, or at least, had she been aware of it. She’d also never been with a man in any such a way.

Petyr seemed to instantly sense the hesitation, and trepidation was surely written all over her face.

“I’m willing for whatever you are.”

He said, complacently and granting her license to truly do what she wanted.

“Okay.”

Sansa answered blithely, before leaning down to once again capture his mouth with hers, and she squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to forget that she was lost, unaware of the time, and simply let herself _feel_.

*

Sansa was utterly perfect and quite the most delicious and delightful creature he’d ever had stumble into his life in Wunderland.

Petyr decided if it was possible, he’d keep her, or let her keep him.

The innocent way she ground herself atop him, nearly driving him insane with need and managing just so to articulate what she wanted him to do, which was little more than place his hand between her legs and seek out the lovely wet warmth inside her, and that alone pushed him a little further down the path of addiction.

No not quite that, for he would be able to stop and pretend he didn’t need her in his bed, or upon the forest floor, at any given moment.

It would always be an activity he’d gladly consent to.

When he plucked a sigh and pulled a gasp from her, and she reached for him blindly, he guided her hand over him, careful and steady slow, he was able to find his own release quite soon after, for the soft touch of her slender fingers was the first real caress he’d had in, a good long Wunderland time.

He flipped them over, so that he was over her, and he kissed her so hard the ground might have cracked beneath them, and she grasped at his jacket, needing some sort of anchor to fight the urge to float off the ground from the pleasure of it all.

The smoke had indeed helped, but it had only unlocked the door that already existed in her mind.

After, straightening his clothing and helping rearrange her own, tattered and torn as it was, she still looked quite dangerously beautiful, he took her hand once more, and they both noticed the smoke had cleared, and Varys had vanished.

The entire mushroom was gone too, so perhaps they’d traveled in their love induced state.

Singular steps on the path led them to a door, and when Sansa dared to reach for the handle, Petyr held her tighter, and prayed.

She stepped through, and found herself underneath the reading tree, red leaves blowing in a gentle warm breeze, and the storm clouds had already long since moved to the south.

The door closed with a final sort of clunk, and she turned to see that Petyr had indeed followed her.

He couldn’t help grinning,

“I don’t suppose you’ve thought of a good story to explain this?”

He motioned to her attire and he saw her glance to herself before to him, and she shrugged, looking the calmest he’d ever seen her,

“I’ll think of something. I do have an excellent imagination you know. I dreamed you up, and here you are, made flesh and reality.”

Petyr only had a moment to consider what she’d said, before she was stepping in close, reaching to stroke her hand over his cheek and running her fingers through his hair, kissing him as sweetly as the lemon cake he’d gifted her.

Had she found him or had he been found by her?”

*

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tune in next time for Film Noir aka Black & White and smoke and booze and murder and mayhem and dangerous attractions and liaisons ...


	4. He's Addicted to Her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWO NEW CHAPTERS IN ONE DAY BECAUSE THE MUSE IS A THIRSTY HOE. 
> 
>  
> 
> also i couldn't seem to stop writing til i'd gotten to this one cause its my favorite naughty dirty filthy premise.
> 
> inspiration: http://queengallaghr.tumblr.com/post/118910604922/
> 
> i didn't use the written prompt or really follow the plot more than killing all the other starks (sorry) but eh it was fun !
> 
> this was also inspired by shadow13's This Will All Make Sense in the Morning which is amazeballs go read it if you haven't.

The week has been slow, like molasses in winter, and indeed, winter is coming, but Petyr still stays til closing, praying, hoping, wishing for a new case.

Dust has begun to collect on his ‘in’ box and he laments that perhaps it’s time to pour a glass of whiskey, light up, and start acting like it’s Friday night.

It is, but to him, it never feels like it.

Until…

There’s a gentle knock on the door. Too soft to be his secretary saying goodnight, for she quit last week, so how could it be her, and too polite to be a policeman coming to evict him from the office building, though rent is overdue by at least two months.

“Mister Baelish? Are you still in there?”

His hand freezes on the neck of the bottle, and then he’s clutching it tight, for dear life, as he feels himself thrown into a loop, a spin, a twist.

The voice.

That voice.

So familiar and beautiful it shatters his heart in his chest, and he’s drowning, falling, gone.

It couldn’t be.

Cat would never.

She hated him.

Despised him with every inch of her being.

He yanked the bottle up from the lower desk drawer, and took a long and deep pull, before gritting his teeth and calling,

“Enter.”

The door opened slowly, and the light from the hallway illuminated red hair that could only belong to a siren with the surname Tully.

But as Petyr focuses, eyes narrowed and alcohol burning his throat, he realizes who is standing, or not standing, in his doorway.

It’s not a siren, it’s an angel.

“Please, Mister Baelish, I need your help.”

Her voice is a whisper of wind through tinkling bells, and the face is kind, soft, and the blue eyes are not harsh with ice.

It is not Cat, but her eldest daughter, Sansa.

Petyr feels the heat from the whiskey curling at the base of his spine, forcing him to sit up straight, and he places the bottle back on his desk, before picking up his still burning cigarette, puffing slowly,

“What seems to be the trouble?”

He refrains from making a smart remark, for something about her face reads and breathes sadness eternal.

“My family has been murdered. Poison, the reports read. An accident, the papers will say. But I know it wasn’t.”

Petyr nearly dropped his cigarette, and indeed, choked on a lungful of smoke.

“What?”

Cat is dead?

Everyone but the glorious gorgeous creature before him is gone?

She is the last Stark…

*

Sansa is afraid he’ll laugh at her, scoff, and send her away to some sort of madhouse.

She’d heard her mother and father only speak lowly of him, but from what she’d read, he solved dangerous and difficult mysteries and put the most deadly of criminals and mobsters behind bars, so if anyone could do it, it was him.

She wrung her hands together in front of her chest, waiting anxiously for his reply, for at his outburst, she’d just nodded.

She couldn’t possibly say it again. She hardly believed it herself. If she’d been any sort of normal young girl, she’d have snatched the bottle filled with amber liquid from his desk and drowned in it.

The problem was she detested the taste.

So she could not ever let herself forget, even for a moment.

Her eyes began to sting, and she felt her tears coming, so she turned away from him, and sank into the lone chair in front of his desk.

“I’m sorry, it’s just been a difficult past few days. I’ve been lied to at every turn and to my face, and I’m just so tired.”

Petyr, Mister Baelish, got up from his desk, she could hear him, even though her face was buried in her hands, and surely her makeup was smeared already.

Warm hands met her shoulders, and the shaking eased slightly,

“My dear, you mustn’t feel bad, I swear I will do everything in my power to help you.”

One hand lifted to slide under her chin, forcing her to look up at him, and his thumb rubbed against the underside of her lip, and something in his eyes looked almost distant.

“Really?”

She found herself asking, unable to quite believe he was granting the wish of her heart of hearts.

Petyr nodded, and his gaze dropped from her eyes to her lips, she swore, but just for an instant,

“Absolutely. Now, may I offer you a drink, or a cigarette?”

Much as she didn’t really want it, she supposed she could definitely use it, and the opportunity to present herself as a responsible and proper paying customer was necessary.

She truthfully didn’t have any money…yet.

Until the case was closed, and it was truly proven that her parents had been murdered, she could not inherit the entirety of the Stark Estate, until she was twenty- five, besiding a monthly allowance that was barely enough to live on. She was lucky the house had been paid for already and all the upkeep needed was taxes and water and electric, otherwise she would have been forced to abandon it for a smaller apartment or loft.

So truly, she needed him to help her on faith, and if he succeeded, then she could repay him beyond his wildest dreams.

She’d not planned on telling him, at least, not in the first meeting, but as she’d winced and suffered through several sips of fiery whiskey, she found things beginning to clear and blur and melt together all at once.

She was crying again, she knew, but he didn’t seem to mind, in fact, he never looked away from her but to pour another glass.

He was perched on his desk, sitting above and to her left, and she crossed her legs, switching sides, and if she’d been more alert, she’d have noticed how his gaze zeroed in on the new expanse of exposed skin on her thigh.

“So honestly, I can’t pay you…really.”

Instead of growing angry, or cursing her or hitting her even, which she only expected of men since Joffrey, he merely smiled.

“I’m sure we can come to some sort of an agreeable arrangement in the meantime.”

His hand was rough and soft all at once, stroking over her cheek, fingers brushing back stray red strands from in front of her eyes, and she looked up at him, unconsciously nuzzling against his palm, for the way he looked at her was the kindest she’d ever seen in so many long long days.

Looks of pity and concern were tiring and she never wanted to see one again.

“Really?”

She could hardly believe her luck.

“Of course. Here.”

He took her glass from her hand, which, she’d finished and she’d completely forgotten to ask what sort of drink it was, for it didn’t really taste horrible anymore, and set it aside, on his desk.

Then his fingers were lacing inbetwixt hers, and he brought her hand to his lips, kissing the center of her palm, his moustache slightly tickling her skin, and the feel of his mouth, was hot and wet on her.

Somehow, it was as if a string was tied between her legs and he was tugging it by worshipping her hand.

Her breath started coming faster, and she uncrossed her legs, fully wishing she had more strength to stand, and she wanted to yank her hand back, but with his, and put them down her skirt.

She blinked, and knew her cheeks had to be the same color as her hair, for the utterly wicked nature of her thoughts took her by surprise even.

“I…” Should go. She thought, but could not say why.

“Yes?”

He was asking, looking at her with some kind of forbidden stare, from underneath lidded eyes, green almost turning black in the dimming light, and she swore that everything _but_ him was blurry.

“I’ll do whatever you want…if you’ll take the case.”

Petyr smirked, and then chuckled,

“Is that right? Well I thought it was obvious, I’d accepted your case.”

Sansa felt as if she’d just said the dumbest thing in the world.

“Oh…”

Before she could open her mouth to ask how she was to pay him for this first meeting, his strong hand had indeed dropped hers, and both his arms were lifting her to her feet, immediately she was reaching to steady herself, hands on his shoulders, and then he was pulling her to him.

With barely space to breathe between them, Sansa tried to ask what was happening, and Petyr was still just smiling slightly,

“Consider this my acceptance fee.”

He moved in for the kill, so to speak, and Sansa couldn’t help it, she forced her eyes to stay open.

His own were closed as he kissed her, slow, smooth, and with a slight nip at her bottom lip with his teeth.

His palms splayed over her hips, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of her skirt, as if he wanted to rend it from her and make her naked but for her underthings before him.

It was rather the way he had looked at her before too, as if she was already naked.

The kiss ended, and she was left swaying slightly on her feet.

“Thank you so much for coming to see me. I’ll contact you when I have information. Your number hasn’t changed?”

She blinked, and Petyr was already behind his desk, gathering his papers into his black shiny briefcase, and she was being dismissed.

“Yes…”

She murmured, and barely heard him wish her a goodnight, so lost in a daze was she.

Her hand lifted to press a finger or two to her lips, still feeling the ghost of his kiss.

When she got home, she dropped everything, kicked off her heels, and shed all her clothing before crawling beneath the sheets of her bed.

Well, the king bed in the master bedroom, which was now hers.

Naked, the crisp cool clean sheets felt like heaven against her skin, which thanks to the alcohol, seemed to be almost afire with feverish need and desire.

Her hands moved over her body and she bit her lip as she pictured him.

It was horrible, wrong and she knew she’d hate herself in the morning.

But he’d been the first good thing in nearly a week of hell.

He’d made her forget her sadness, and the deep black pit of despair had shrunk for just those few moments, so now she chased that feeling back down.

Her fingers slipped in and out of her nearly shamefully wet cunt, and she pressed against her swollen clit, nearly coming with just that, and she gasped, arching her back as she imagined _his_ rougher hands touching her instead.

“Please…”

She gasped, and his face filled her mind as she finally did come, reveling in the aftershocks that shivered through her.

She lay still for only a few moments before exhaustion claimed her, and she slept through until the sun was breaking the darkness of the room, and birds could be heard chirping outside.

*

It was just a touch over a week before Petyr was sure he had a decent lead, and he typed up a report for his client, before making his way to the Stark mansion.

Fuck phone calls.

He was more likely to be driven mad with his pathetic need for her if he only heard her voice on the line, so he decided it would certainly be easier to figure out what to charge her if he saw her in person. The mansion was large and imposing, but also rather haunting, considering the fact it was now occupied by one person, besides the two guards in plain clothes stationed around the entrance.

He flashed his badge and then they moved, parting like the sea for that one white bearded prophet. He never put much stock in the gods of old and new, for they hadn’t yet answered his prayer.

The doorbell he pressed rang loudly and began to echo, so he knew she couldn’t possibly miss it, if she was even home.

He checked his watch and decided that if she wasn’t, he’d wait for her. That was how far gone and purely addicted to her he was.

Money was not his objective, for he knew that he could name any figure and no matter how outlandish it was, when she had her fortune, she’d grant it.

The Stark’s hadn’t been murdered because of any sort of vendetta, but simply because they posed a threat to the ruling mob classes.

Tyrell, Lannister, Targaryen, or Greyjoy. It was a flip of the coin that could be used to determine or said which of the classes had more motivation.

A sudden loud clunk stole his attention back from his thoughts, and he looked up to find the door opening, revealing Sansa herself, clad in a pure white dressing gown, which was so long it brushed the floor, also white, made of marble, striped here and there with what appeared to be veins of gold.

Oh yes, Cat had indeed chosen the richer man.

“Petyr.”

Sansa sounded a bit breathless, and he decided he would endeavor to make her say his name like that again, very soon.

“Forgive my intruding on your Sunday afternoon, but I thought you would like an update on the case.”

Her eyes lit up and she nodded eagerly, motioning him to come inside, and he did so, watching the way she moved as she closed the door behind him.

She was very tall for her age, willowy and graceful, and he wondered if she’d taken ballet before the tragedy had occurred.

Even when she’d been on the verge of being completely intoxicated in his office, she’d moved like she was underwater, careful and smooth, as if everything she did was deliberate and planned.

That only gave him pause for a moment, and then she was facing him again, smiling somewhat nervously,

“What news?”

Petyr simply extended his hand, in which he’d been holding the folder with his written report and a few pertinent pieces of information.

He would let her keep the entire thing, for a price…otherwise she could have only the report.

He waited to tell her that until she’d guided him into the large sitting room, inside which there was a small fire burning inside the fireplace, and the smell of something dark roasted coffee was entrancing his senses.

“Oh?”

She asked, her pretty pink lips forming that perfect shape, and Petyr found himself distracted, staring a half second too long.

Her eyes were wide, innocent, and wondering, and he nearly growled at how utterly delicious she looked.

He wondered just what she was wearing under that dressing gown, for although it was delicately made, it was so opaque that even if she’d been naked, he wouldn’t know, unless he could untie it.

He decided.

It was what he wanted.

That time.

Much as he was considerably _aching_ for her touch, even as he shifted in his seat on the couch opposite her, he would very preferably like to be able to picture her later, when he was alone in his private room, and have more than his imagination to go off of.

“Would you like to hear my charge with, or without the folder?”

Sansa nodded, eyes still bright and hands folded comfortably in her lap.

He swallowed thickly before speaking,

“Take off your gown, and come stand in front of me. I won’t touch you, only look.”

Sansa’s jaw dropped slightly, and he smirked. He’d guessed correctly, she was indeed naked, or else she’d never have protested revealing any sort of sleepwear or underwear to him.

“For how long?”

“As long as I deem necessary.”

He saw her gulp,

“…And what is the price for the entire folder?”

Petyr flexed his hands, growing more and more uncomfortable by the moment, sitting as he was completely hard in his trousers.

“I can touch you, one place, for as long as _you_ allow, but it can be anywhere I like.”

He knew exactly what she was going to assume he’d do, simply going off the way her cheeks grew pinker, and the only thing he wanted next was to learn just how far down her neckline the flush would go.

“All right. You may do both. I want the folder.”

Petyr fought very hard to keep from laughing at the rather resigned look on her face, as if she’d promised to do something utterly demeaning, when really, he just wanted to look and worship her like she deserved.

“I’ll stand, if you don’t mind.”

Petyr finally said, deciding if she was going to reveal all her cards, he might as well show one of his as well.

She got up from her seat, and slowly walked over to him, reaching him just as he stood.

Her eyes instantly dropping to zero in on the tent in his pants, and he smirked. Very predictable, both men and women could be.

“Go on…”

He murmured, as if she really needed reminding, her knuckles were as white as her gown on the tie around her waist.

For a only a moment she remained frozen, before slowly pulling with both hands, sliding the fabric free, and letting the gown part in front of her, then she shrugged it off, and it fell to the floor, like a cloud dropping from the sky.

Now Petyr was frozen, eyes drinking her in as fast as he could, while taking the time to memorize the location of every freckle, curve, and dip of creamy pale skin.

Her collarbones, he’d love to lick, taste her sweat, for surely the first time he fucked her she’d get a real workout. Her breasts, he imagined they’d be a perfect handful, and the flush on her skin did indeed travel that low, kissing her nipples, and causing them to harden, as if her body was reaching out for him.

Not yet…not yet had he really decided where he wanted to touch her.

He looked down, past her navel, seeing the dip of her hipbones to her thighs, and he knew she was holding her breath.

Between her legs, hiding her sex from his piercing gaze was a perfect V of red, a few shades darker than the glorious hair of her head, which was falling long enough to cover her breasts, if she chose, and beyond that, legs that he wanted nothing more than to feel wrapped around his waist.

She made a sound, so soft and low, he wondered at first if he’d imagined it, but then he raked his gaze back up her body and to her mouth, where she was biting her lip. She’d whimpered from just the weight of his eyes on her skin.

Her eyes were wide with something, not fear, not of him, but of what he might say.

“Don’t worry. I’m ready.”

Sansa nodded,

“Okay.”

Her eyes squeezed shut, tight, and he remained still a final moment, before changing his mind, and reaching for her, one clear destination in mind.

She was bracing for impact, and he was going to take her breath away instead.

This would not be unpleasant for her.

*

Sansa waited, wondering what he would do, where he would chose to touch her, and when she felt his breath on her neck, she thought she knew, he’d picked her breasts.

A moment before she was prepared for his hands to grope her, for how else did men know how to handle a woman, a finger pressed against her entrance, and a thumb swept over her clit.

She gasped aloud, and her eyes snapped open, meeting his at once.

He was smirking, but not unkindly.

He pressed another finger inside her, ripping a moan from her throat, and she reached out, grasping his shoulders, for the next time his thumb rubbed against her clit, harder, she swore her knees trembled.

“Oh god.”

He didn’t know, he couldn’t possibly, unless he read minds, know that she’d dreamt of this exact thing, with his hand between her thighs, so many times, and more than once in the past week and a half, fallen asleep after having imagined just that.

His fingers were slippery and sliding in and out of her with so much ease it was almost embarrassing, but the fire was beginning to spike and splutter out, and white light overwhelmed her vision, much as she tried to focus on him, she found herself throwing her head back, eyes rolling shut, as she clenched around his hand, grinding down against his thumb, which continued to move over her, even as her hips were shakily just riding out the aftershocks of her climax.

She had a death grip on his shoulders, she knew, and after panting for breath, she realized she had to sit down, or she’d fall.

She stepped back from him, carefully, cautiously, but he’d already withdrawn his hand, and she scooped up her gown, pulling it around her body loosely, before collapsing on her couch across from him.

After blinking once, twice, she chanced a look over at him, and saw something that made her inner muscles twitch, just once.

He was putting his fingers in his mouth, slowly, one at a time, licking her essence off.

She could see it shiny in the firelight, until it was gone, and he simply rubbed his hands together, clearly done.

She drew a shaky breath, and then swallowed before speaking,

“So…”

Pathetic.

Petyr smirked,

“So, I suppose you have no further need of me?”

Sansa shook her head numbly, and watched as he reached down to pluck up his briefcase, and began to stride out of the room to the front hallway.

She thought about stopping him, begging him for a kiss, calling it an advance, but then she noticed how he’d placed his case in front of his groin.

Heat flushed her cheeks, despite herself.

She had aroused him too, and he was taking his leave.

Perhaps so he might return home and think of her?

She hoped so.

*

Indeed, no sooner had Petyr gotten safely home, having taken a cab the entire way, a ridiculous extravagance, that he’d practically shed his clothing like a second skin, and stepped into the shower.

He stayed until the warm water ran cool, and he could finally catch his own breath, having drawn out his own orgasm nearly until he couldn’t stand any longer.

When he fell into bed, he imagined that he could still taste her.

She was sweet and tart, like lemon cake.

He couldn’t wait until he got the next bit of the case done, and could collect.

Perhaps it was completely terrible of him, but he was a terrible person, so he didn’t care really.

The last thing he wanted though, was to hurt her. She’d suffered enough, gods knew.

So he worked hard, diligently, and followed every lead that came to him.

His contacts in the police and in the government served him well, and the papers would soon read a different story, one of betrayal and scandal, and even incest, but first, he needed to tell Sansa.

He put it off as long as he could, and when he finally shut off the light in his office, and took up his briefcase, it was almost midnight.

The witching hour, some said.

He melted into the darkness, almost became it, as he approached the Stark mansion, he wondered if it wouldn’t be better to simply vanish, and let her return to a semblance of a normal life.

Alone yes, but rich and more than safe.

He’d made the Greyjoy’s swear to protect her, with threats of blackmail and exposure, and it had worked, miraculously.

The fact was, that they still had a life debt with the Stark name after Sansa’s father had rescued their son from being mugged in an alleyway, in a dangerous part of town he should have known better than to visit.

It was why they’d been lowest on Petyr’s list of possible suspects.

Now he stood, conflicted, staring up at the lone light burning in the mansion, and the silhouette moving around it that could only be her.

She was indeed the light to his dark.

An angel  trapped in a cage of tragedy and loss.

Why was he trying to corrupt her?

She didn’t deserve it, didn’t need it, probably didn’t want it either.

His feet betrayed him, leading him up the walkway towards the front door, and his hand lifted from his side to press the doorbell before he could stop himself.

He stood there, silent, hating himself, listening to it echo around the massive house.

He wanted to leave, he needed to get out, had to be free, before her light crept any further into his soul, threatening to turn him into something he didn’t think he could ever be.

 _Good_.

*

Sansa nearly flew down the stairs when she heard the doorbell.

Who else could it be at such a late and scandalous hour?

She paused carefully before opening the door, arranging her new dressing gown around herself, and then she bit her lips, making sure they appeared as pink and tempting as possible, then reached for the handle.

Petyr was indeed there, standing still as a statue, looking as if he would like to be anywhere but here, and Sansa was almost disappointed, until he noticed her.

Or more accurately, her attire.

“Sansa…”

His voice was a hoarse rasp, and she wondered if he’d smoked an entire pack of cigarettes while working.

“Please, come inside, you must be freezing.”

She wasn’t truly uncomfortable herself, but she could feel her nipples tightening from the temperature change, or maybe she was simply easily aroused by the sight of her lover.

She smiled to herself.

Lover.

Not that he was really, yet.

“Of course. Whatever you wish.”

Judging by the semi-martyr-esc attitude he was emanating, either he’d solved the case, or he’d utterly failed.

The latter was less likely, and Sansa ushered him into the living room, where she’d set out two champagne flutes, with a bottle chilling in a bucket of ice beside them.

Flickering orange light from the fireplace was all that illuminated them in that room, for the rest of the lights in the house were only lit to guide one as gently as possible, as if they’d just wakened from sleeping, like surely Sansa knew she should have been.

“Come, sit, we must have a toast. I assume you’re here with good news, or you would have waited for the morning.”

She giggled to herself, and then watched as he collapsed virtually to a couch, across from the table laden with the drink and glasses, and she glided over to them, carefully popped the cork, aimed at the fireplace, which it landed in perfectly, and began to pour.

“Sansa…it couldn’t wait for morning, because the headlines come out at eight.”

Her hand shook, only slightly, but enough to dribble some of the champagne down the side of one of the glasses.

“Oh? Is there going to be something of interest in the morning papers?”

She was being facetious, yet he didn’t bite.

So she plucked up the glasses, one against each palm, and then walked over to him, handing him one, the one she’d poured first, and when he looked at it, away from her, she stepped over his legs, and sat down upon him.

Instantly, he braced his feet on the floor so she couldn’t slip off, but his eyes widened in shock,

“What are you doing?”

Sansa smiled, doing her best to imitate his seductive half smirk,

“I’m drinking champagne, as are you. Cheers.”

She clinked her glass against his, before taking a delicate sip, and smacking her lips together, attempting to sound as obscene as possible,

“Mmm-mmm. Delicious. Don’t you think?”

Petyr didn’t even take a drink, in fact, he threw the flute aside, making Sansa jump as the glass shattered against the fire.

He had remarkably good aim too.

She reached blindly behind herself to set her glass down, but she must have missed by a few inches, for it too broke.

“Petyr, what…?”

His hands were burning onto her hips, and she knew he’d figured out she was naked beneath this dressing gown too.

She could feel the bulge of his hardening cock beneath her, and she fought the urge to rub against him.

“You’re playing a very dangerous game here, I think you know it. I’m not good for you, and this needs to stop, right now. The case is over, solved, so expect a bill in the mail.”

She could feel him preparing to stand, so she did the last thing she could, she threw caution to the wind, and leaned forward, pressing her lips to his, sheer desperation driving the kiss.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, a bracing hold so even if he forced her up with him, she wouldn’t let him go.

He resisted only a moment, before his arms moved to encircle her waist, and he pulled her hard against him, grinding his hips up and into her parted legs.

“Ohhh…”

She moaned into the kiss at the growing friction, and felt him shudder under her.

“You feel so incredible, you look like a goddess, and I still really can’t believe you want me…”

He confessed, breaking the kiss, only to move to her neck, kissing down the line of it before nipping at her collarbone.

She writhed in his lap, and panted out a sigh.

“I can’t believe I went into this thinking I only wanted it over with…but I don’t. I don’t want to write you a check if it means I’ll never see you again.”

Petyr chuckled wetly against her skin, teeth now grazing over the delicate fabric of the neckline, and she wondered if he’d rip it open.

“I suppose you could simply pay me an allowance, and as long as I can still work, I’ll be happy. Although, I’d much rather collect this way.”

One of his hands slide around from her back, where he’d been on the verge of cupping her ass, to part the opening of the gown, and sought out her wet center.

She was practically dripping, and when his fingers brushed over her, she bucked into his hand, and arched her back unconsciously.

“I’d like that too.”

She found herself murmuring back.

Petyr stole another quick kiss and then asked,

“Don’t suppose you’d like to change positions? Legs are going numb.”

Sansa nearly jumped up, despite the fact he was working her over with two fingers scissoring inside her and his thumb pressed to her clit, and he smirked.

“Of course, yes. You know, for your final payment, you should just fuck me. Forget the foreplay. Just do it. What you’ve always wanted to.”

Judging by the gleam she saw in his green eyes, she’d hit the nail on the head.

She stepped back and away, and shucked off the black gown, before turning around, walking over to the end of the couch, and leaning over it, wiggling her bottom to punctuate her point.

Petyr, for his part, was speechless, although clearly on board with the plan.

“Are you sure?”

Sansa nodded,

“Then you can take me to bed.”

Petyr shrugged,

“Okay. If it’s what my lady wishes…”

Sansa bit her lip, insanely in love with how those words sounded.

He walked over to her, stopping when he was directly behind her, and reached out to stroke her bare bottom,

“You’re not a virgin are you?”

His voice was uncharacteristically soft, and concerned, and Sansa nearly felt her heart break.

“No, I’m not. Don’t worry. You can’t hurt me.”

She tried to say it flippantly, coolly, as if it didn’t matter, but she knew, if he’d done his research right, he could probably put two and two together.

“I would never.”

Petyr vowed gently, before removing his hand from her, evidently preparing to undo his pants.

Sansa turned around as much as she could to watch, and she caught his stare.

“See something you like?”

He teased, and she nodded, indeed, despite the dim light, she had an excellent view, and she was almost annoyed she couldn’t have him in her mouth first, but she wanted nothing more than to feel him inside her, right that moment.

“Absolutely.”

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

Petyr carefully pressed his cock inside her, just a couple inches at first, and then when she begged for more, he let her have it all.

The delicious tight feeling was more than she could have dreamed, and she knew, in that instant, that was how it should always be.

Even as he moved in and out of her, he reached down to flick her clit, and ensure she was riding the same pleasure high he was, and she knew he was, because she could feel how he swelled inside of her.

His voice was only whispering her name, like some irreverent prayer, and Sansa could feel a different kind of tears stinging her eyes.

Maybe it was a wrong sort of love, but it was all she’d ever wanted.

Afterwards, he did indeed take her to bed.

He carried her in his arms like she was the most precious thing to him, and she hoped she was.

Considering that he didn’t slip away in the morning, and only left her side at breakfast to bring her his triumph, the morning paper, she suspected he did feel something more than desire for her.

It wasn’t until he asked her for just enough money to renew the rent on his office that she knew.

She gave him a little bit extra, and instead of protesting it, he surprised her at dinner, a week later, with a ring inside her new gold rimmed champagne flutes.

He apologized for seemingly rushing her, but hugged her tightly when she jumped into his arms, fervently saying yes until the word tasted strange on her tongue.

Then she tasted him on her tongue, and all was right in the world, at least as right as it could be.

*

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://archiveofourown.org/works/3901468/chapters/8729467 bless this fic.
> 
>  
> 
> Coming up next...Priest!kink


	5. Forgive My Sins  (Priest!Kink AU pt.1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahahahaha so this part 1 because like a good neighbor my muse is a hoe and this story got long and out of hand and is still being worked on but iw anted to give you guys something cause there will be no update tomorrow.

The boy with the golden hair.

Sansa decides she will marry him.

So what if he's in training to become a permanent man of the Cloth.

She's young, beautiful, and irresistible to most men so, why shouldn't he fall for her too?

Before she can open her mouth to tell her mother so, she bites her tongue, for she’s not even sure if that could be called a sin or not.

Knowing her mother, she’d probably call it one.

Finally, a Sunday comes where she can go to her first confessional visit. Where he will be the one granting her forgiveness.

Every step she takes toward the confessional booth makes her heartbeat thunder louder in her ears, knowing he's not very far, just behind the mesh screen door, his voice soft and only for her.

“You may begin.”

His voice says, and all of a sudden, Sansa cannot think what she had planned to say.

She knew the words she ‘needed’ to say, but after that, she was out of ideas.

“Bless me father, for I have sinned.”

She says anyway, throwing caution to the wind, and glancing through the mesh to see if she can possibly read his face.

It almost looks as if he is smiling.

Maybe he recognizes her voice? Or can see her red hair?

“Tell me your sins child.”

She knows they’re barely a couple years apart in age, she’s learned all she can about him from her best friend Margaery.

“I told a lie yesterday, and had a forbidden thought today.”

She’s completely winging it, so does that mean she’s just lied again?

She was wringing her hands together in her lap when he finally replied.

“What was your thought?”

She giggles nervously,

“Oh Father, I can’t possibly tell you.”

Joffrey chuckled,

“Well, unless I know just how forbidden it was, I cannot give you proper instruction for penance.”

Sansa blinked, of course, why hadn’t she thought this through further?

She swallowed and blurted out the first thing that came to her mind, the truth.

“I’ve had feelings of desire for a man of god.”

She chanced another glance through the mesh, to read his expression, but instead of looking interested, he was staring at his nails, which looked to be perfectly shaped, horrible as the light was.

“Say three Hail Mary’s and god’s prayer, and go and sin no more.”

Sansa blinked, stunned.

“Thank you father.”

She mumbled almost indistinctively.

Wandering back home as if in a daze, Sansa wondered if she’d read him all wrong. Margaery had said he was interested in her, or would have been had he not been halfway through his Priestly studies, however that worked.

But no matter. Sansa was not a quitter.

She continued to dutifully attend church, for two reasons, to see Joffrey, and to be able to sing her heart out.

It wasn’t until she’d been through three more confessionals with him and several weeks’ worth of Sunday and Wednesday sermons that a truly disastrous catastrophe struck.

Okay maybe she exaggerated somewhat.

 

She got a sore throat, and had to stay home from church.

Lying in bed, she swore she felt ill enough to die, but how could she? She hadn’t kissed Joffrey yet. She was still a virgin for heaven’s sake!

Though she didn’t think she’d have a fever, her dreams were incredibly wild and crazy and contained images of running wolves, and the sound of hoof beats, like an army of horses.

Sansa woke in a cold sweat, to find her cell phone ringing with Margaery’s specific tone, and there were already three other missed calls.

She was too weak to talk long, but she flicked the phone open and answered with a croak.

“Hello?”

“Oh my god honey what is wrong with you?  You sound horrible…like my grandmother when she forgets her coffee…You missed the absolute wildest sermon and the biggest news announcement of scandal…but I shouldn’t gossip…I don’t want to make you feel worse.”

Sansa was fully awake now, and she was instantly burning with _curiosity,_ no longer feverish.

“What’s going on?”

Margaery was speaking into the microphone with a hushed whisper now, and Sansa wasn’t sure if it was just for dramatic purposes or not.

“Joffrey has been kicked out of the order! Suspended pending investigation!”

It was a sort of whispered scream, and yet all Sansa heard was white noise.

She might have dropped the phone, so she missed the rest of what Margaery hissed.

“Joffrey…not a priest anymore?”

The news was somewhat unsettling and also extremely good news…after all, if he wasn’t going to be studying to be a priest, he could someday get married!

To her…

She finally leaned over the side of the bed, when she didn’t feel like hurling her guts out, she fumbled for the phone again, and heard a mild buzzing.

Margaery was going full speed ahead, and Sansa laughed weakly.

“You’re gonna need to back up,” she rasped, and Margaery shrieked right in her ear.

Sansa winced and collapsed back on her bed,

“What?”

“You didn’t HEAR ANY OF THAT? THE FUCK AM I GOING TO DO WITH YOU?”

Sansa smiled slowly and shrugged, knowing her friend couldn’t see,

“Who knows.”

Margaery sighed,

“Okay, lemme back up, what was the last thing you heard?”

Sansa sighed,

“Joffrey’s not going to be a priest anymore?”

Margaery cackled,

“Don’t get too excited about that honey, because it’s quite a horrifying scandal why he’s gonna be investigated for. The whole church board ruled against him.”

Sansa was frowning, which was not good for her headache,

“Why? What could he have done?”

She was imagining the absolute worst she could now. Most of her scenarios in her head went something like the usual fantasy sequence she played through at night.

She came to confess her terrible and salacious sins of the week, and Joffrey stopped her, only to come around and confront her in her side of the booth, usually ending with a passionate kiss or two and some groping.

“Honey, they’re saying he molested your cousin, Robin.”

Sansa froze, and she’d have dropped the phone again if she hadn’t been clutching it so hard she heard the plastic creak.

What?

Joffrey had sexually lusted after a boy???

A ten year old boy, none the less.

Did that mean…

He had never wanted her?

But poor sweet Robin…

“Is he okay?”

She asked, and Margaery snorted,

“I don’t know, but he looked pretty proud of himself even as they walked him out of the building.”

Sansa squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head,

“No Margaery, not Joffrey, I mean Robin. Is he okay?”

Margaery laughed, airily and light and far too strange a tone,

“Oh he’s tickled pink. I don’t think he quite understood what being asked to show his little boy penis to Joffrey quite meant. But naturally, they’re gonna get to the bottom of it, and make sure no one was forced to do anything or nothing beyond _looking_ occurred. Your aunt Lysa was utterly impossible. Hysterical, and louder than me after a few glasses of rum if you can believe it.”

Sansa could.

Her aunt was a complete 180 from her mother, in manner, word, and deed.

Her mother was far too perfect and prim for Sansa’s liking, for it meant everyone expected that of _her_ and it was annoying as hell!

Her little brothers Bran and Rickon and sister Arya took after her father, and Arya never got scolded for being unladylike. It was bizarrely unfair.

“Okay honey I’ll let you go rest. Call me as soon as you’re back to 100 percent okay?”

Sansa nodded, and yawning, replied,

“You got it Marge.”

She knew Margaery hated when Sansa called her that, but considering she was sick and had just had the worst news of the century about her true love, she figured she’d earned the right.

Drifting into a strange Nyquil sort of induced sleep filled with nightmarish scenes of dragons and angry bells clanging and Joffrey, no longer angelic and kind, instead, sitting on a throne of swords and eating what looked like a plate of baby limbs, Sansa was yanked once more from sleep in a cold sweat, shaking, and shivering, and realizing her throat no longer felt like it was on fire, and she would need to go to work the next day.

“Ugh.”

*

Sansa worked in a coffee shop right beside an enormous bookstore, where Margaery was one of the chipper, and often, cleavage revealing, cashiers at the checkout counter.

They usually shared lunch breaks or smoke breaks, though Sansa didn’t actually partake, she just went for the brief respite from idiotic customers and their requests.

“I probably shouldn’t.”

She said, waving away Margaery’s extended hand. Considering she’d just recovered from a dry sore throat, a puff, even just one, would have been a poor choice.

“You say that every time…”

Margaery rolled her eyes at her friend, and took a long slow pull on it, blue eyes fluttering shut with the action.

Sansa sighed,

“I don’t what I’m going to do now. I don’t have any real reason to keep going to church. What will my family say?”

Margaery cocked a blond brow,

“You’re telling me you’re seventeen and still letting them boss you around? You don’t have to go to fucking church if you don’t want to. Come hang out with me. I’m having a pool party in the afternoon, but you can come over early. My parents and Loras will be going to church, Loras, is mostly going to see his choir boyfriend Renly, so the house will be empty but for me…”

She grinned wickedly, and Sansa knew exactly what she was thinking. They could drink a bit and tan and gossip all at once.

“Well, if the music is utterly awful and the sermon is dull, I’ll claim a headache, and leave early. How’s that?”

Margaery nodded,

“Good deal. All right. Time’s up. Back to the grind.”

Sansa linked arms with her, and they walked back inside the building, before parting ways at the front entrance.

“Sansa where have you been? This line is insane. Go take orders right now.”

Her boss snapped at her the instant she saw her, and Sansa fought the urge to roll her eyes, but that would not fly well.

She did as she told, hopped to it, and within twenty minutes, the line had died down, been conquered, and it was now only one person left.

One man.

Sansa blinked.

One very _cute_ man.

Well, _cute_ was the wrong word, a hundred times over.

The man standing in front of the counter, thoughtfully perusing the menu perched behind and above her head was older than she’d usually notice, grey streaking through his temples, and laugh lines just starting to set in around his eyes, greenish grey that they were, could only be called alluring.

He was handsome, and probably knew it, which as Margaery would say, was the end of all feminine confidence, but also had a mysterious and dangerous edge to him.

It wasn’t until he stepped forward, dropping his hand from his chin, that she noticed the square of white below, at his neck.

Her eyes widened, and she blurted out,

“Are you a priest?”

The man looked at her instantly, right in the eye, and despite what he seemed to be, the way he looked at her was completely sinful. It was like he was imagining her naked, right there, in public.

“Yes sweetling, I am. Just arrived in town. At the request of the local deacon, Varys, I’m here to help with a little staffing issue they’re having. But enough about me. I’m sure you don’t care about that. I’d like a white mocha, with a drizzle of raspberry on the top, if you have it. If not, strawberry. I like a hint of fruit with my coffee.”

He winked at her, and as she rung up his order, somewhat dazed, she realized he’d over paid her, and when she counted out his change, and the drink was ready, she snagged it.

“I’ll take it.”

Her boss looked surprised at her initiative taking and she smiled to herself. It was a completely selfish reason but hey, she didn’t mind.

The man, whom she should have gotten his name, for at any other time, busy or not, she would have just written it on his cup, or snuck a look at his credit card, since he’d paid in cash though, that was not an option.

“Uh, Father, you forgot your change, and here’s your drink.”

It was a combination not unheard of, but as Sansa looked at the cup, setting it down beside where his hand sat, relaxed on the table, she could see the red syrup bleeding into the pure white foam layer right above the coffee.

Rather hypnotic and also morbid, she decided.

“I apologize, I should have given you my name, for surely I’m not the only one who likes white mochas.” At that, he chuckled quietly, as if laughing at himself and Sansa cracked a smile.

“It’s Baelish. Father Baelish if you’re being formal or you can call me Petyr. I did that on purpose…the change is for you. I’m sure you don’t often get tips. But you put up with me babbling on, and again, so you’ve more than earned it.”

Sansa blinked, stunned.

Five dollars and fifty cents might not seem like a lot, but it was by far the biggest tip she’d ever gotten. Usually the tip jar was full of loose change and a couple bills, and the baristas had to split it.

She froze, horrified. If her boss knew she’d accepted the entire tip, she could get fired, or more realistically, get a written warning.

“I can’t accept it…”

She began, and he reached up, taking her hand, folding her fingers closed around the bills and coins, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. But it wasn’t from cold.

His hand lingered on her skin a few seconds longer than necessary, and when she looked back at his face, he was smirking.

Not a very priest like expression, she decided.

“Please…I insist.”

She heard her name being called, or god knew how much longer she would have stood there looking like an idiot.

She stuffed the money in her apron and tried to form her face back into the retail mask,

“Enjoy your coffee, Father Baelish.”

Her smile was a little plastic, but he seemed to understand, raising his cup in a manner of salute, and then she was forced to return behind the counter.

She snuck little looks over at him throughout the next half hour, and he seemed to drink slower than any customer she’d ever spied on.

That made her realize just how weird she was acting.

When her shift finally came to an end, she looked over, and he was gone. Naturally, hours later.

 But there was something on the table still, and she was suddenly curious.

Had he left her his phone number on the napkin?

No, it was too ridiculous.

Even as her phone was beeping loudly with texts from Margaery wondering where she was, if she still wanted a ride or not, Sansa crept over to the table, trying to look as casual as possible.

It was indeed a napkin folded on the table, but when she reached out to turn it over, and unfold it, she found no numbers, but merely a small drawing of what looked like a bird.

White breasted and with a long tapered tail.

She’d need to Google that.

*

Petyr was quite amused to note just how many time the abnormally pretty young girl from the coffee shop had looked over in his direction.

She thought she was being sneaky, but he was well trained in the use of his peripheral vision, and while pretending to read his book, studying up on the subject of Sunday’s sermon, and forcing his brain to try and relearn the proper mannerisms of a confessional minister, he took his own looks right back.

She was tall, for her age, which he guessed to be about sixteen or seventeen, old enough to work retail, but still fresh enough not to be bitter about it, yet. She also moved quite gracefully, like a dancer. He’d not paid much attention to the bright green plastic of her nametag, which he now regretted.

Come to think of it, her long scarlet hair had been falling over most of it anyway, so it would have been a rough guess as to what the beginning of ‘NSA’ was.

Although, her blue eyes and the hair were very reminiscent of someone he’d once known, and his memory seemed to be tickled by the idea, as if the name was on the tip of his tongue.

A mystery for another time, he decided.

As he continued his reading, for real, late into the night, when his eyes finally grew heavy, he didn’t dream of the usual nonsense that often did, instead, he saw only waves of fire and pale snowy mountains, and a crisp clear voice, saying his name… well almost.

‘ _Father…’_

He smiled in his sleep.

 

Sunday morning came far too quickly for his liking, and though he tended to never be truly nervous when greeting a new parish, he felt a little on edge while waiting in the wings for Varys to introduce him to the congregation.

He wouldn’t need to be preaching for more than a few minutes before Varys took over, as he needed to save his voice for the confessional booth afterwards, where he was certain he’d be overwhelmed with needy sinners.

Oh he’d heard of the scandal that had opened up the spot for him, and he was loath to admit it didn’t surprise him. Nothing did anymore.

The Catholic Church was plagued with unbelievers, child molesters, and alcoholics. It was why the confessional booth gig was so exhausting.

Mentally and physically.

When he finally did step onto the platform of the stage, for that’s what it was, all preachers and deacons and priests and even the Pope were simply playing a part in a horribly dull overacted and overhyped play, he simply nodded and waved while mild applause broke out.

Petyr smiled wryly to himself, the only problem with the world was that they all bought into the lie, for that’s what good plays were, beautifully crafted lies that hid only a small modicum of truth.

He noticed the most concentrated amount of applause was coming from middle aged women, whether they looked happily married or not, he couldn’t help being further amused.

Not focusing too long on any single woman, he grazed the crowd and noticed an alarming sight.

Starks.

Lots of them.

He could have bit his tongue and did to keep from laughing out loud.

God was indeed a prankster, and he had a sense of humor.

The one church that needed him as he was making his way around the east coast was the church that the Starks attended.

His eyes reached the end of the line, finding the final child, a girl, who was engrossed in her phone, only looking up as Varys finished his introduction, and waved him towards the podium.

Like a deer in the headlights, he locked eyes with her for a moment too long, and he cleared his throat, looking back at the rest of the congregation, taking up his sweeping stare, which he had developed for sermons, to keep from falling asleep during his speech…or sermon.

It didn’t matter what he did, it was truly impossible to focus on anything but her. He was aware of her watching him, and it burned him that he couldn’t stare intently back.

Luckily, he didn’t have to avoid looking at her too long, for Varys was tapping him on the shoulder, and practically pushing him back off to the side, so he snuck another peek at her.

She was looking a bit confused, and perhaps intrigued?

He bit back a smile, and moved swiftly to the confessional chambers.

Varys kept his sermon short, and the other priests who were assisting him quickly followed, taking their places.

He’d taken the booth all the way to the end, closest to the parish’s main atrium.

He wasn’t a betting man, being a man of god, most days, but he would have bet good money that the girl ran out ahead of everyone else, for she was the first face he saw.

Praying for it would be very blasphemous he knew, but he still whispered a short plea.

She started walking towards his booth and he could have kissed the rosary in his pocket.

The door closed with a soft click of finality, and she took her seat, separated from him by only a thin wall of mesh and indeed, a thin sheet of wood.

He could hear her breathing heavily.

“Please begin whenever you are ready, my dear.”

Diverting from the usual script, he knew. He just wondered how long it would take her to figure out who he was.

Petyr shook his head at his own selfishness. What if she didn’t recognize his voice? What if she wasn’t as mindlessly attracted to him as he was her?

He didn’t know which was more likely.

Then again, he recalled her many looks from across the coffee shop, and smirked as he heard her breath catch, and saw her lips part.

*

Sansa couldn’t quite believe her luck, or maybe it was her own personal brand of hell, on earth, come to tempt her.

So she supposed that made the Father the Devil, in disguise.

How interesting, and certainly something she could tell Margaery, for who else would care or even listen?

But there was no way in hell, or heaven, that she was leaving before trying to see him. She tried not to run out of the sanctuary, but completely failed, managing a mildly elegant sprint.

She could hear her mother hissing angrily after her, like a cat whose tail had been accidentally trodden on, but she didn’t care. The booths were just ahead, and she swore she could see a silver bird dangling from the handle of the first one. So she took a chance, slipped inside, and closed the door, attempting to catch her breath and not sound like she’d run a marathon.

Instead of laughing at her, the man behind the wall remained silent, as if waiting for her to compose herself.

She inhaled deeply, and noticed the scent of mint lingering with the oak of the wood, and the usual stale scent of the church could not be noticed.

A few more seconds of silence passed, and then a smooth and dangerous, yet intimately familiar voice filled the void.

Everything but the last word was routine to Sansa’s ears, and she found her words freezing in her throat.

They were now in an entirely different setting, a professional one for him, and a casual yet confining one for her.

It was a new sort of cage.

Retail always felt like prison, and being flirted at and creeped out by customers was the way of it every day, the hazards of being pretty and a girl, Margaery would say, yet her brief conversation with him had been the most fun she’d ever had spent with a customer, and even the fact he’d paid her, tipped her, and made it sound like she was doing _him_ the favor…well, that was incredibly more rare. Impossible almost.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”

She finally said, only wincing a moment later to realize she’d mixed up her words.

“I forgive you. Now, tell me your sins.”

He was playing along with her!

Her mistake had been stupid, and yet, she always wondered why it was to request to be blessed before actually confessing…little made sense to her, even after years of going through the motions in church.

“I-“

She started, and hesitated.

Lying now wouldn’t be smart, but the fact of the matter was, except for a few stray thoughts of anger directed at Joffrey, she didn’t have a whole lot she needed to confess.

There was a deep dark secret thing she _wanted_ to confess, only to him, but she wasn’t sure she would ever be brave enough to voice it.

“Yes?”

She chanced a look over, through the mesh, and she swore she saw him leaning closer, legs crossed, and one hand propping his head up, as if he was ensuring he could hear best as possible.

She gulped.

Opened her mouth again, and nothing came out.

She saw his lips twist into a smirk, and he shifted in his seat, hands moving down to smooth over the front of his robes.

“Why so shy? Is it because you know me, and the delicious anonymity is gone? It only makes me wonder what sorts of things you’d tell the others…”

Sansa was blushing, she was sure of it, why else was the tiny room heating up and making her want to rip her dress off, tear the wall away and look him right in his eyes?

Wait…

She wrung her hands together in her lap, and fought to control her thoughts.

What she told him, never could leave their space…it was just the way of it…so what harm was it really?

  
“That’s part of it…Father, but also the fact that I’ve sinned…with you.”

Did she imagine his sharp intake of breath, or was that really something that was simply too much, too suggestive and too sinful to put to words.

“Is that right? In what way? I seem to recall only a pleasant conversation, stimulating in a social manner, but in all aspects, perfectly sin free.”

He was chuckling, a low rumble in his throat, and it made her shiver. The vibration of the sound was minimal through the walls, but she still imagined she felt in through her entire body.

“No, I mean, not that. I had a dream about you last night…and seeing you here today, I, well, you, being a man of the cloth, well, it wouldn’t be proper…”

“To tell me, or to reenact?”

Sansa was shaking now, so hard was she pressing her hands together, folding in on themselves over and over, tightly enough to make her knuckles white.

He was incredibly skilled at reading her, and he wasn’t even looking at her!

Was he?

She snuck a glance over, and was mildly horrified to see he was leaning towards the mesh in the same manner.

“Hello…you can’t hide from me or god, just because there’s a wall between us. You’re making it very difficult to do my job you know.”

Another smirk, and Sansa gulped.

“I’m sorry.” She stammered out, and she saw him lick his lips before speaking.

“You just lied. I don’t think you’re sorry at all. In fact, I think, you had exactly the sort of dream about me that I suspect. Shall I tell you? You may tell me if I’m right, or not. Either way, we’ll get the bottom of this sinning problem of yours.”

Did he wink at her?

He did. She was sure of it.

“O-okay.”

She managed to get out, and he chuckled again,

“In your dream, I was there, and we…held hands.”

She looked up from her clenched hands, and saw him still watching her, so she shook her head.

He clicked his tongue against his teeth, and obscene sort of noise in the small space,

“Do promise you’ll tell me when I’m getting warmer…hm?”

She just nodded. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

He continued,

“We were kissing, somewhere secret, where no one could see us.”

He tilted his head slightly, now only watching her with half his face hidden from her, in shadow.

So she shook her head.

He cocked a brow,

“No? Well then, I must admit I’m at my wits end. Please, enlighten me.”

Sansa pressed her hands to her face, fighting the urge to hyperventilate into her fingers, though she did feel light headed already,

“I can’t! It’s too horrible.”

Petyr, or Father Baelish, as she needed to think of him as, _never_ Petyr, never so informal, sighed,

“Well you know, the heavenly father sees all that is in your heart, all those secret sins, even if you never confess them here. So really, the truth of the matter is, you’re only cheating yourself out of heaven.”

Sansa felt her eyes go wide, and she leaned over to cling to the meshwood screen as best she could,

“No! Please, don’t say that.”

He shrugged,

“It’s the truth my dear. Confessing is really the only way to clear your conscience, and then I can dispense my instructions for you to cleanse yourself.”

Sansa inhaled slowly and then squeezed her eyes shut, as if pretending he couldn’t see her would somehow help make it easier.

It didn’t.

Every word that left her tongue was like a burning hot coal of agony, and the sins she named, the things he’d done to her and with her in the dream, well, she’d surprised herself with the utter debauchery her unconscious mind had conjured up.

Or indeed maybe it had been the Devil himself, possessing her while she slept.

She finally voiced that concern, and he only sighed, shaking his head, before replying,

“The main issue with the church today is this, this vilifying of any sort of sexual awakening in you, in any woman. You’re treated like it’s a cancer, and told it will sully you forever, but really, it’s a very necessary part of life. It pains me that you’ve been subjected to this sort of injustice. Sansa, you need make no penance. Go and fear this sin no more, and know you’ve been washed anew.”

She saw him pull out a rosary, place a gentle kiss on the cross, and then sit back, until he’d nearly vanished into the dark corner of the booth.

Sansa could hardly believe her own ears.

He’d not laughed at her, mentioned a single bit of what she’d said, sounded shocked, or even disgusted, as he rightly should have, _and_ he was saying she was free to go.

It wasn’t an exaggeration to say she walked out of the booth feeling rather like walking on air. Asking her parents if she could go to Margaery’s took less than a minute for them to say yes, and then she was off, away, and still in disbelief.

*

Petyr wasn’t surprised, shocked, or even impressed with people’s confessed sins, he’d not heard anything of note in the last decade of his off and on work, not until _her._

Oh, she didn’t shock him, but she did impress and surprise him beyond his own wildest fantasies and dreams.

She didn’t know what sort of monster and madness she was helping shape, but it was too late, and heaven nor hell could help her now.

He was going to seduce her, or die trying.

The only good thing to know was that it wasn’t one hundred percent all in his head, for if she’d had those sorts of thoughts while asleep and out of control, how did she think of him when she was awake, alert, and under her own power?

He smirked, instantly zeroing in on one of the steamier details, a bit that she nearly glossed over and probably hoped he hadn’t quite heard.

But as softly as she’d kept her voice, he had hung on every word, and would scarcely allow himself to forget a single one, hopefully as long as he lived.

She’d lied to him, in a way. The dream may not have been innocent kisses and touches, but certainly, he had to have kissed her at some point, for what man could be intimate with a girl like her and ignore those rosy lips?

Much as he did like the idea of her hands being bound above her head, and his own the only that could touch her, that could give her the release she desired, he also couldn’t help imagining her using her delicate and slender fingers on him, and how fast would she push him to the brink?

As it was, his self induced celibacy had been going for over two years strong, but there was no doubt, she would be the thing to end it.

Not a thing.

The person.

The woman.

God, how he wanted her.

So badly he could almost taste her perfume lingering in the air inside the booth, long after she’d gone, and by the time Varys came around to collect him, offer to take him to dinner, he’d almost considered quitting the order so he could go to her the next night.

But no.

Petyr Baelish did not do things by half, he did not rush, no matter how perfect the objective.

He would be calm, steady, and face his inner demons with the sort of quiet rage they deserved.

 

No backing down.

Not even when Sansa’s eyes found him, burned a hole straight through his left shoulder when he sat in the sanctuary just to listen to the singing, until he made his way to the row of confessional booths.

He might have imagined that he could pick her voice out from the crowd, but then, perhaps it was merely the work of the amused god.

He didn’t break over the next confessions, the sins that would have made any decent sort of nun or priest literally go up in flames from the depraved nature of content, dreams or daytime thoughts, and he merely had a stitch in his side from tensing up so that he wouldn’t crush the wall between them and take her right there, in the booth.

His rosary had long since been crushed and torn and ripped to shreds, beads scattering on the floor in the booth, so he decided to get a new one.

He knew where he’d go.

No, he wasn’t shopping online for that sort of thing, he had a perfect plan.

The bookstore.

She worked beside.

It would have plenty of the like.

He could finally see her without a crisscross over her and the tempting delicious voice and no touch.

 

Changing out of his robes was the easiest thing in the world, but discarding the white collar…he…still…couldn’t…quite…manage.

It felt wrong to even consider it, but it was almost pointless to wear it around her.

He’d already broken every vow he’d ever taken, if not in reality, then in practice, in his mind, at night, sometimes twice on Sundays after he got home.

Walking into the heavily air conditioned building was a sweet relief in and of itself, and spotting her across the atrium was another blessing.

He smiled to himself, and purposefully walked past her, taking the long way to the religious and gift section.

“Hello Sansa.”

He called softly, so as not to draw too much attention, whether from her mean looking boss, or any prying eyes that might actually belong to Varys. The man had people everywhere.

She looked at him, and her eyes scanned over him as he passed by, before she greeted him with a quiet ‘Hello’ that might have been a whisper of a breeze kissing his cheek as it whisked by.

Surely she could do better than that?

He didn’t mind. He would take his time finding a new, sturdy rosary, and then return to her. It was almost time for his afternoon caffeine fix anyway.

*

Sansa was on edge. More so than usual. She’d actually taken a puff from Margaery’s cigarette when she’d been offered it on break.

The widening of her friends eyes was more than enough to tell her that she was clearly going through some shit.

Now the day had gone from stressful to full blown manic attack inducing.

Petyr was there.

He’d crossed through her glaze eyed stare that she was directing at the slow moving escalator, and she got the feeling he wasn’t done with just a ‘Hello’ when he vanished into the religious section.

She tried to busy herself, cleaning the espresso machine til it gleamed and when a small line formed, she tackled it all alone.

It wasn’t but fifteen minutes later when he returned, and didn’t even glance at the menu, before stepping up to the counter.

She cursed the fact she’d already had her lunch break and two ‘smoke’ breaks, so she couldn’t pass him off on her boss or coworker Shae.

“Hi.”

Instead of a ‘what can I get you?’ or the usual spiel, she was much too intimidated to say more than a greeting. He looked very prim and proper and nice in his black robes with his perfect white collar, and she could swear she felt her makeup melting down her face, just from her blushing cheeks.

Why did he even still want to see her?

Or was he really just there for coffee and she was being extraordinarily selfish?

“I’ll take a green tea blend, over ice please.”

She blinked, stunned.

That wasn’t his usual.

“Are you sure?”

She found herself asking, and he nodded.

“That’ll do it for me.”

She spotted a book clutched in one hand, and a small bag from the main store in the other, so he’d gotten his purchase and was just on his way out.

She blended up his tea and poured it over ice, snapped the lid on and strolled right past Shae, hissing that she’d take it, save her the trouble of calling his name.

Shae only looked mildly insulted, and Sansa knew she’d get over it. She was getting picked up by her boyfriend later, so she had to.

“Here you go. Hope it’s sweet enough for you.”

She stood with one leg tucked behind the other and she was anxiously wringing her hands together, which she stopped the second she noticed she was doing it, clenching them into fists instead.

“If you made it, I’m sure it’s wonderful. Do you have a moment? I brought you something.”

Sansa finally met his gaze, which she was surprised to note hadn’t been on the obvious, her cleavage or her face, he’d been eyeing her legs.

Her shorts were kinda short, and more so since she’d sprouted at least five inches since they’d originally been bought for her.

“You got me something?”

She echoed, and he smiled, shaking his head slightly,

“I didn’t just buy it, if that’s what you’re asking. I’ve had a few of these over my career as a priest, and they’re always well appreciated. It’s a study guide, a journal of sorts, for when you read your bible. I know our modern times make it difficult to focus, but this allows you to make notes on passages, or chapters, and if you have any questions at all, my number is in there. “

He pointed to the inner flap of the cover, and she saw it, scribbled on a scrap of paper taped to the flap.

“Oh.”

Sansa was slightly confused, but also rather intrigued. He was giving her his cell phone number? Could priests even have cell phones?

Petyr was laughing already, as if he’d read her mind,

“I know, I know. It’s unorthodox. But I figured, people like me are supposed to be a direct link to God, so through me, you’ve got a quicker way to getting your prayers and concerns heard. If you don’t need it, don’t use it. But it’s there. I’ll let you get back to work now.”

He smiled, rather kindly but still saying goodbye, for he was standing now, and taking a long sip from his drink before nodding, smacking his lips together almost obscenely.

“It’s delicious, thank you again.”

If she didn’t know better, she swore he winked at her as he swept past, leaving her standing, looking after him, with the gifted book clutched in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah once again, as with my one other priest!kink story im making all this shit up, im not catholic, never have been, never will be, and im sorry for perpetuating the stereotype but i hate all religion yo.


	6. Bless Me I'm Sinning (Priest!kink AU part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the second part, both sappy and sexy and FUCKING LONG so you're welcome my trash babies xoxo
> 
>  
> 
> warning liberal use of snapchat, texting, and other modern things. sorry if its annoying.

Petyr knew that most people would have looked down on a priest for having a cell phone. A gateway to sin, the internet was scoffed at. Well maybe it could be the opposite. After the run in he had had with Sansa, completely planned of course, he couldn’t help glancing at it more often than not. He had installed a chat app and some sort of picture program.   
  
It's purely for sinning, so he's read, why else would photos be programmed to vanish after 10 seconds at the most?  
It's a full 24 hours before she even texted him a meek 'Hey' and his hand shook for a good few seconds before he typed a hasty reply.   
  
The next few minutes pleasant banter was exchanged and he decided to add her on the picture message app.  
  
She accepted and added him back five minutes later.  
  
How did a priest end up having Snapchat? She asked him, and he replied by sending her a picture of him, smiling somewhat enigmatically.   
  
_The same way everyone else did. By downloading it._

The caption read, somewhat sarcastic, yes, but she seemed to bring out the worst in him.

  
She sends him a 4 second lasting picture of her eyes rolling up at the ceiling and he texts her, 'Were you needing to talk to God, because I can help with that'  
  
Then her reply was a 5 second photo of her pretty smile, and he thinks he could drown in her blue eyes when they sparkle like that, even in two dimensions.   
  
Before he knew it, it was midnight and he should have long been asleep. He didn’t so much as tell her, or chide her for keeping him up, but said goodnight and she didn’t argue.  
  
The next morning it's Saturday and he realized why she never protested the time.

For her it's finally a day off and time to sleep in after staying up late, for him it's panic mode day because he will headed to church the next day, to see her and get to hear all of the dirty thoughts and dreams she's been having all week. At least he hoped she has thought of him.  
  
Eight a.m. and his alarm was blaring far too early it seemed, but then his phone was chirping too.

  
He smacked the clock and reluctantly palmed his phone. After all, it could be his boss.

 Varys, not God. 

"Hello ?"

His voice sounded groggy and awful even to his own sleep clogged ears.

"Hi."

The voice was decidedly not the man he thought of as the Spider, it’s _her_.

"Why are you calling instead of texting?"

_Why was he complaining instead of listening to every word she graced his wretched ears with?_

"Oh I'm sorry...did I wake you up?"

Not really. She just called right along with his alarm. But something made him say,

"Yes."

"Oh god...I’m so sorry."

She sounds like a repentant saint. He could certainly use that. He'll ask her for a favor, and then repay her twice over.

‘ _Apologize later, act now.’_ He thought to himself.

"It's ok, you can make it up to me tomorrow."

He smiled to himself and listened intently as her breath caught on the end of the line.

She was considering his meaning now.

What he might ask of her.

She was really too perfect and he doesn’t deserve her as a friend much less anything else…ever.

"Ok."

 She finally says, somewhat breathless, and then he found himself imagining her on her back, perhaps still lounging in bed. What would she be wearing?

He wants to ask, but he's not so sure she wouldn't hang up and never come to see him again.

So he had to be content to simply imagine.

Something silk and lacey, beautiful and delicate, befitting her perfect skin and gorgeous hair.

  
He pictured it first spilling over _her_ pillows, and then he thought of it on _his_. 

  
Thinking about waking up to her in the morning, and not getting out of bed after several snooze presses because why would he leave a goddess in his bed behind?

"Uh, Petyr?"

She had clearly been after his attention for a few moments, having skipped to calling him by his first name.

He can’t help grinning at that,

"Yes, I'm sorry. Got distracted."

She goes on about something, a question about a passage she’d read and taken a few notes on in the study guide for the bible that he slipped her earlier in the week, in which he'd put the note with his phone number.

So he returned to being proper, and he tried to wipe his mind of thoughts of her that aren't completely Holy in nature while answering her question to the best of his ability.  
  
*

Sansa was beyond thrilled to hear Petyr's voice answer her on the other end of the line, until she noticed how much like a frog he reminded her of.

She glanced at the clock beside her bed and frowned before gasping aloud.

It's early, really early, for a Saturday, so naturally of course he wasn't awake yet.

She tried her best to shrink back against her pillows and bed, squeezed her eyes shut tightly, wondering if the earth could really open up and swallow her.

After a few seconds had passed, she stopped feeling so foolish, and now his voice had become a low grumble and it was still far too alluring for her liking. 

Especially considering the state in which she had awakened. 

The entire reason she called.

After having such a delicious dream she couldn't have helped the craving she had for the sound of his voice. 

She shifted on the bed, feeling the telltale wetness between her legs she always had after those sorts of dreams. 

Asking him biblical questions felt wrong. She wanted to interrupt his explanation to confess right then and there. _'Bless me, I'm sinning.'_ She thought.

Instead she squeezed her eyes closed and tried to picture him.

How did he look just after waking?

Was his perfectly sexy hair tousled and rumpled?

She had never wanted to touch something so innocent but so explicitly forbidden in her entire life.

Despite the fact he surely had things to do, and she herself needed to do laundry rather desperately lest she start repeating outfits for church, they kept talking for at least an hour. Sansa did get up eventually, made her way out to the kitchen, if only to pour herself a glass of juice.

Still listening to him, she tried pretending he was in the room with her.

What would he put on to wear to breakfast? For surely he must do as he did in her mind, slept completely naked.

Maybe he’d wear a blue plaid robe, soft and worn, extremely comfortable and easy to hug in.

She closed her eyes, picturing him in front of the fridge, where the cool air would make his skin break out in goose bumps and she imagined coming up from behind him, throwing her arms around him and kissing him on the cheek hello.

She startled when he spoke rather sharply, 

"Sansa ? Can you hear me? I've gotta go, work is calling I'm afraid." 

He really did sound sorry.

"Oh. Well yeah of course you’ve got to go."

She heard him chuckle lightly, 

"I'll text you when I have a free moment. But feel free to send me snaps of you between now and then."

He hung up before she could question that.

Did he mean it?

Well....

She poured a cup of coffee and took a quick snap of her taking the first sip, and she saw that he watched it five seconds later.

She smiled to herself and began prepping her breakfast in earnest. 

*

Petyr did indeed have work to do, but he would have happily put it off until midnight all over again, had his phone not chirped with a missed call and a couple of texts from Varys.  He definitely did not want to ignore the man for long.

He delayed only a few seconds more to click on the snap Sansa had just sent him.

She was looking at the camera, at him, with a half smile hidden behind her coffee cup.

Morning hair or not, bed head and fresh faced et al, she was luminous.

Finally he got out of bed, pulled on a bathrobe and strolled out to his kitchen, standing and soaking up the chilled air before pressing the button to call back Varys. 

"Yes?"

Petyr rolled his eyes,

"Seriously? You called me. What is it?"

Varys sounded amused,

"Something or someone got you wound a bit tight my friend?"

Petyr sighed and pinched his index and thumb together at his temples,

"No, not at all. My alarm went off an hour early so I'm still trying to wake up."

It was a lie, technically. But it sure sounded true.

Varys began to go over the main points he would be covering in his sermon, preparing Petyr for the fact he might be required to step in at some point. It also helped him know what to expect in the confessional. Not that he planned on letting anyone but Sansa come to him.

When he finally got off the phone with Varys, he noticed he had another couple snaps from Sansa.

He smirked.

She was clearly quite happy seeking out his attention.

The pictures of her were the max of 10 seconds for him to watch, but they were of objects, not actually her, and she appeared to be lamenting having to do housework. 

Poor thing.

He considered writing back that she had better not ever get married.

Unless it was to him.

His fingers froze over the keys, and he gritted his teeth.

 Not that that would ever happen in his lifetime with his luck.

Considering it would be far easier to quit the church than smoking, he still didn't want to admit defeat yet. Though he knew it was only a matter of time before he ended up breaking some of his vows during church hours.

As the weather grew hotter, hemlines were getting higher and higher, and he'd already suffered from seeing Sansa in tiny shorts at her work, and the legs he saw could definitely be at quite at home on any runway.

He could only imagine what she might wear Sunday morning. 

In fact, he did imagine it. Once he'd hopped in his shower for the morning.

The water felt better on him when it was cold, but it certainly hindered his attempted goal. 

Shaky and a little short of breath, he finally climbed out to dry off and try to finish his notes for his first real sermon next week when Varys took his vacation of four Sundays off.

He knew it would be very difficult keeping his eyes moving when he would have her staring right at him.

Thank God himself for the large podium he would have to hide behind, cause God only knew if he could see just her hands folded innocently in her lap, his mind would start wandering, and he would get himself in trouble. 

When he truly did have more than one free moment he texted her simply,

‘Whatcha doin?’

She was shockingly prompt with a response, then again, he supposed she probably had her phone on her at all times.

‘Currently? My nails.’

Now that was indeed interesting. He’d never taken much notice to what she had on her fingernails, but he knew well enough he’d be quite observant if she were to ever have those hands wrapped around his body in a particular local.

He asked her what color, and she replied with a snap, 10 whole seconds of her grinning wide, with her hand covering her eyes, bright blue nails shining in the afternoon sunlight.

“Lovely.”

They were about three shades brighter than her eyes, but still quite alluring.

He managed to restrain himself from talking to her too much longer, begging off that he needed his rest for the morning, and she let him go, somewhat reluctantly, he hoped, around 8 p.m.

He fell asleep around ten, but prayed only for dreams about her.

*

Sansa had never spent so much time trying to decide _just what to wear_ , so that he would know she’d chosen it for him, but not feel too full of himself that he’d made her silly about herself.

Eventually she settled on an off the shoulder white dress, with red and green diamonds scattered across the fabric.

She knew her mother would object to how much cleavage it revealed, and for church especially, so she threw on a white cardigan over it.

Once inside the sanctuary, she immediately looked for Petyr…Father Baelish.

She’d not texted him since they’d said goodnight previously, but she almost wished she had sent him a blithe good morning text or something, because he looked awful. Like he hadn’t slept well at all.

_That was rude to think_ , she chastised herself.

He was sitting off to the side of the stage, or at least, what she called the stage, and the bald man who was the regular minister was speaking, more like droning, on and on and on.

Sansa wished she’d thought to bring some gum to at least keep her somewhat distracted and help the time pass a little faster.

Eventually she found herself nodding off and after she jerked back awake for the second time, she quietly slipped out to go get a drink of water, or visit the restroom to check her hair, at least it would give her something to do.

She had delayed as long as she could, before she knew her mother would think to come snooping about for her, and she was walking back towards the side door she’d left from when she felt a hand on her arm.

She nearly shrieked aloud, but was pulled around the corner into Petyr’s arms.

“Hi!”

She gasped, and he smirked at her,

“Apologies for that. You looked terribly bored, and I’m afraid I forgot to greet you this morning, so I thought I’d wait for you and say hello.”

Sansa licked her lips and swallowed thickly, realizing how close they were standing. Petyr dropped his hold on her, but didn’t step back, so that she could still technically be considered in his arms.

She blinked, and then smiled shakily,

“It’s totally fine. I should have waved or something…sorry. You don’t think I was mad at you or something?”

Petyr waved a hand about airily, as if shooing away a fly,

“Nonsense. You had your little friends to catch up with this morning, and I had a sermon to prepare to suffer through.”

He was still smirking, and now Sansa felt like laughing, until she remembered…she was supposed to be heading back. What would her mother say if she found her like this, standing and chattering with one of the priests in the back hall?

“Well, I’ll see you later then, in the booth. I have to-“

Petyr was already nodding,

“Of course yes. I should too. I look forward to it.”

His hand brushed over her bared elbow, having slipped inside her cardigan, which was no longer tightly secured around her shoulders and over her low dress neckline, and she felt her heart skip a beat.

He walked in first, moving around to the side where he’d been sitting, then she went back in too, and carefully made her way back to her family’s row.

The sermon must have gotten boring even for her mother, because she didn’t even interrogate her for being gone so long, she was doodling on her program and her own father seemed to be falling asleep too.

Sansa smiled to herself, and looked over to catch Petyr looking at her.

His face cracked a half smile when he spotted her watching him, and she bit her lip and looked away. How did he always manage to catch her off guard?

When he’d yanked her to him, she had secretly thrilled, and thought he might kiss her for a maddening half of a second, but he hadn’t.

Naturally, why would he?

In church, in front of God, why would he commit an utter sin?

She was still self doubting and being overly critical when it came time to head to confession, and she didn’t realize that the side she usually sat on was shut and the other side was open until she was standing in front of the booth, questioning if she was losing her mind.

“Enter my dear.”

Petyr’s smooth voice called, and she swore it came from the side with the open door, but perhaps he’d just decided to switch sides, for some reason, so she did.

Five seconds later she was being pulled into his lap and the door was being pushed closed before anyone could see.

She would have yelped, but his hand was covering her mouth before she could even think to make a sound.

“Shhh. I apologize…again, but I couldn’t help myself, really. If you want to leave, just nod, and I’ll let you go. I swear it.”

Sansa was frozen, not from fear or indecision, but from pure adrenaline rushing through her veins.

She could feel him breathing hard against her back, and while one hand and arm was pressed against her front, his other arm was lying over her lap, fingers curling slightly against the hem of her sundress, which had ridden up on her thigh considerably far.

“Well? What’s it to be sweetling?”

That pet name…it had purely wicked connotations and Sansa _loved_ it.

His hand lifted from her mouth, slowly, gently, and Sansa inhaled a sharp breath, before turning her head to face him, only mildly shocked at how close their faces were together.

He could have kissed her cheek, and now her mouth, with little to no effort.

“I’m staying.”

She whispered finally.

A slow grin spread over his face, and it sent sparks down her spine, and straight to her core. She was already throbbing with need, and she thrilled to know that there was every chance he might be just as aroused for her.

“I’m delighted to hear that. Now, did you have any sins to confess today?”

She couldn’t help jumping slightly at the feel of his hand sliding underneath the hem of her dress, quite on purpose, and she swallowed thickly before speaking, eyes locked on his.

It was a very dangerous game she was playing, that they both were really, but she was determined to see it through to the end.

“Yes Father. I do.”

Petyr leaned in, just close enough for her to taste the mint on his breath, that she’d sworn she’d smelled earlier on but dismissed as cologne or something else,

“Tell me.”

His voice was a low purr, just for her ears and hers alone, and his other hand, having left her mouth, had wrapped around her neck, his index finger tracing the line of her jaw, distracting her only slightly from his other hand, the fingers of which were stroking her inner thigh, just inches from her panties.

“I, uh, I had a dream about a man the other night, not you, exactly, his face was hidden from me…”

She trailed off, and whimpered, eyes turned to the ceiling of the booth, for his hand had now reached the apex of her thighs, and he’d dragged a finger over her fabric covered clit.

Petyr leaned in, and his lips brushed over the delicate skin of her neck, while his other hand pushed her cardigan the rest of the way off her shoulders, baring considerably much more skin to his eyes,

“What did he do, this, mystery man?”

Sansa gulped and tried to find the words, but it was like trying to catch smoke, with her focus and attention completely on something else entirely, and when one of his fingers nudged the fabric of her panties aside and parted her folds to press inside her, she clenched around him, and hummed nervously.

Petyr chuckled quietly against her skin, before pressing a brisk kiss on her neck and withdrawing his hand, both of them, until he was cupping her face, and forcing her to look right at him.

“Sansa, are you a virgin? Has any man ever touched you like this before?”

She shook her head, and swore she saw his green eyes darken,

“Well, let me assure you, if there is anything you don’t want, don’t like, or you simply want me to stop, tell me, and I will.”

Sansa blinked, once, twice, and then heaved a shuddering sigh,

“Should you really do any of this?”

Her heartbeat was thundering in her ears, as she sat there, still in his lap, in semi-darkness, and all around them, quiet whispers of confessions filled the air.

Petyr smirked, and lowered his hand from her neck, until he’d clasped one of her own in his, linked their fingers, and looked at their joined hands somewhat thoughtfully before speaking,

“I don’t suppose I should…but truthfully, I don’t give a flying fuck for should’s, would’s and could’s. You’re a beautiful young woman, and if you want me to, I’ll happily break every vow for you, right here, right now.”

Sansa was gaping at him, like a horrible sort of dead fish, she knew it.

Even though her mind was racing and her brain was calculating just what sorts of sins they could safely get up to in such a confined space.

“Don’t look so shocked, my dear. Men have broken them for less. Drinking, or smoking, those are technically off limits for me as well. Think of how easy it would be to drown myself in a bottle rather than worry about winning the interest of a woman.”

Sansa felt a laugh bubble up her throat,

“I don’t think it would really be very hard for you to catch a girl’s eye…I mean, look at you.”

She gestured to his front, to his face, well, to all of him. He was practically a heartthrob in the flesh, sure, maybe a half a decade older than she usually dreamed of, but still, quite attractive and incredibly tempting.

Petyr smiled, a truly genuine one it appeared,

“Thank you Sansa. That’s very sweet of you to say.”

Sansa shrugged,

“I just can’t believe you like me too…”

She trailed off, taking her free hand to reach for his cheek, stroking it gently, slowly, feeling the slight scratch of his beard, though it was barely visible in the dim light, she saw his eyes fall shut, just for a moment.

“Any man would be a fool not to want you.”

His other hand came up from holding hers, stroking the bare skin leading from the slope of her neck to her shoulder. She shivered again, but not from any chill. Her dress was off the shoulder, and she’d thought nothing of it before, but now she realized he could easily push the straps all the rest of the way down, revealing her strapless bra clad breasts, if he wanted.

The words were on the tip of her tongue, and she’d parted her lips to speak, when he leaned forward, hand gripping her shoulder, and kissed her.

He had taken her by surprise, and when he found her mouth open, she felt the wet probing of his tongue, instantly making the kiss five times deadlier than it should have been.

She whimpered slightly, as his hand loosened from hers to move around her waist, and his fingers fisted in the fabric of her dress.

Melting into the kiss wasn’t difficult, but the placement of her body on his was, rather, uncomfortable, after a few moments, so she tried to shift herself, subtly.

Moving back and swinging her leg over his lap was quite easy as it had turned out, but there was a slight noise of surprise from Petyr’s throat when she sat back down, and she felt a certain hardness against her stomach that wasn’t his arm.

Her eyes widened, and she jolted back from the kiss as she realized what it was.

Petyr was looking rather smug and she knew her cheeks were flaming as she whispered,

“Sorry.”

He chuckled softly,

“What on earth are you apologizing for? I would be rather concerned if I didn’t have sort of reaction to you, like this, kissing me in a very forbidden spot, upon my lap. Considering how wet you felt a few moments ago, I rather think you’re enjoying this.”

Sansa nodded just slightly, and Petyr reached out to put a hand on each of her thighs, now straddling him in a technical sense, and she nearly jumped.

“So it’s perfectly fine. When you’re ready, you can even touch me back. As long as you didn’t mind me touching you.”

Sansa’s throat seemed to close up and she wondered if the room was shrinking or she was just losing her mind, or did he just give her permission to…grope him?

She’d heard a little about what she should do, if she ever found herself making out and unsure how to proceed with a guy, but Margaery’s tips had been a bit more tongue in cheek, and she hadn’t known what was actual advice or just her attempts to make her blush and stammer.

“Okay.”

Sansa managed, but it was a hushed whisper, that he’d have never heard if he hadn’t been sitting right flush with her, and she reached a hand down, between their bodies, slowly, carefully, as if it was a twisted game of Operation, and she’d get shocked if she did it wrong.

Perhaps she was taking too long, or Petyr was just trying to be helpful, because the next thing she knew, he was placing his hand over hers, and guiding her directly to the prominent bulge in his trousers.

She gulped.

It felt strangely erotic to be touching him, well, touching him like this, as they were, in such a terribly taboo situation.

“You all right there?”

He asked gently, and she nodded.

His other hand was soft on her cheek, and he turned her to face him, for once again, she’d let her gaze wander, as if she could only look anywhere but him, lest it be too embarrassing.

“Relax.”

He leaned in to kiss her again, and she felt him move her hand over his cock, and god, she fought the mad urge to giggle at just the word, but that was what Margaery had lewdly referred to them as, the glorious weapons man had to only use for good.

Well, most times.

Within just a few seconds, they were both breathing hard, and Petyr broke the kiss to lean his forehead on her bare shoulder, his breath hot on her skin, and making her feel even more aroused.

She ached for him to touch her again, she really did.

“I think you just might be a natural at driving me insane.”

He finally said, breaking the silence, and Sansa hiccupped a giggle, before biting her tongue.

Time didn’t seem to matter in the last few moments, but she couldn’t help but wonder how long she’d been in here with him.

“Fifteen minutes.”

He answered, as if truly reading her mind, and she pulled back to stare at him, mouth agape in wonder, until he pointed to her other hand, not on him, which was clutching her phone, from where she’d set it on her cardigan in a fit of conscience, just having plucked it up again to check.

“Oh.”

She answered numbly.

That wasn’t long at all, but it had seemed like so much longer.

“I think when I touched you is probably when things got a little hazy…may I do it again?”

Petyr was whispering in her ear, and she could only squirm in his arms and nod yes.

She wanted nothing else, truly.

He went back to kissing her, and for the next five minutes, thoroughly explored her, more than she’d ever even dared to on her own.

Unless thinking of him.

He was pressing his thumb against her clit, aided in the movements by her embarrassing wetness, and he had two fingers inside of her, pumping in and out in a dizzying motion, and within a few seconds, Sansa was gasping into his mouth, and grasping his shoulder in a sort of death grip.

He nipped her bottom lip with his teeth and broke the kiss just to say,

“Does that feel good for you my dear?”

“Yes.”

Sansa thought she would plead guilty to any sin she might have been condemned with in that moment, just to keep him from stopping.

When she felt her orgasm hit, her vision went white, and her jaw dropped as she gasped.

He had tried to stifle it with another kiss, but failed rather spectacularly.

She twitched against his hand with aftershocks that too her by surprise, and she felt as if she had a cramp in her right leg.

He was stroking a soothing hand on her back, and murmuring something in her ear, just before nipping and kissing at the skin below it.

“Oh my god…” She managed to croak aloud.

Petyr chuckled darkly, and sounded like pure sin when he spoke,

“Not at all, that was just me. Now, who did that?”

Sansa was only mildly lost, but slowly finding her way back to the game,

“You did, Father.”

Petyr kissed her lips again rather fiercely, and then brushed his nose against hers,

“Yes sweetling, and don’t you forget it. Time to go now, run along, and call me later.”

Had it really been twenty minutes?

It felt more like an hour since Sansa had first entered that booth, and descended into hell.

But if that’s what hell was really like, she decided it would be completely worth it.

She paused only long enough at the water fountain to watch him emerge from the booth, and he looked remarkably well put together, considering she’d just come all over his fingers.

As she watched, he looked over and spotted her, standing by her sister and little brothers, waiting for their parents to stop chattering, and he winked, before placing his index finger in his mouth, lewdly sucking it for a good few seconds and then pulling it out to tap his eyebrow with at her, a sort of obscene salute.

Sansa looked away as quick as she could, but no one had noticed. Arya was buried in her phone, and the two boys Bran and Rickon were too busy complaining about the pain in their stomachs.

She felt her phone buzz in her hand and she turned it over to see a single word from Petyr,

_Delicious._

*

Petyr could scarcely believe his luck, she’d played along with the entire ‘shared booth’ game, and then, lords above, she’d let him touch her, and he’d sworn he’d seen the face of god when she came for him, so sweetly and beautiful, shaking and shattering in his arms.

He’d not been lying, not at all, when he’d texted her, she had truly tasted quite good. He was now just eager to see her again, and he certainly wasn’t going to wait for the confines of the confessional booth.

If he could steal her away from work, even just for a kiss, or two, he’d be quite content.

But as it turned out, luck was not on his side, and Varys had called him the very next day, telling him he would be needing help early, as there had been some sort of tragedy in his family requiring he start his vacation early.

Petyr snorted, rather convenient, but graciously accepted the call.

It meant he would need to take over all the upcoming sermons and preaching, even the youth gatherings in the midweek.

That of course gave him a perfect excuse to text Sansa, and see if he couldn’t guilt her into coming to an extra church service.

Perhaps guilt was the wrong word, persuade was more accurate.

She hated church as much as he did, but quite honestly the only reason he still suffered through it was for her now. She’d slowly become his entire world, and if he let her, she could destroy him.

Wednesday night arrived swiftly, and he sent her a text and photo of him he’d taken before leaving his apartment, clad in his casual wear, for outside of Mass, he could forgo the robes and wear whatever he pleased, long as he kept the collar.

Petyr smirked, and decided he might attempt to remind Sansa of what she’d first confessed to him a few Sundays past, about her fantasy, and if she’d still be interested.

There was no discreet meeting in the confessional booth, until _she_ ambushed him after the youth sermon, and dragged him by the wrist towards the booth hallway, something like a wicked smile on her face. She was wearing those cutoff jean shorts he’d seen her in before, and a shirt juuust long enough not to bare her midsection, but if she raised an arm in even a wave, he knew some skin would peek out.

They passed the booths, and kept going, until Petyr realized where she was headed. The deacons chambers.

Varys’ office.

He smirked. She was delightful, and truly after his heart.

No cramped spaces for them, not while they could get away with it. The door had no sooner clicked shut and he’d ensured it was locked then she was upon him, kissing him roughly and practically pawing at his leather jacket over his shirt.

“Whoa there, someone’s eager.”

He chuckled, and reached up to wrap his fingers around her wrists, gentle, but firmly stopping her from attempting to maul, or undress him.

Sansa looked on the verge of pouting,

“After Sunday I realized I really wanted to return the favor, and I thought I’d have to wait til Sunday, but now I don’t…sorry for being a little too…slutty.”

She smirked slightly, and he couldn’t resist laughing at her.

“Is that what you think you are?”

Sansa just nodded, and he dropped one of her hands to stroke his hand over her face, thumb brushing the apple of her cheek,

“Don’t degrade yourself like that. You can be drowning in your desire for someone and still be a pure creature.”

 She was frozen, staring at him in wide eyed wonder, and he took a moment, just to appreciate the fact that, if just for now, she was all his.

“Come here.”

He murmured, and stepped back close to her, before leaning in to kiss her, slowly, deeply, feeling her melt under his touch, and tasting her moans.

He moved her so that she was backed against the door, and then he lifted the one hand he still held in his own, above her head, and felt her jump slightly, her clothed breasts brushing against his jacket front,

“Petyr.”

She broke the kiss to whimper his name, and he growled, steeling himself, before speaking,

“You once told me you fantasized about having your wrists bound, this is just a shade of that, will you allow it?”

Sansa licked her lips, and met his gaze before nodding slowly.

Petyr sighed,

“Good girl. So only I can touch you. Yes?”

He waited for her to nod, and then he grabbed her other hand in his and placed under his thumb, so that he was gripping both of her wrists with one hand, leaving his other hand free to explore her body.

The shirt did indeed rise up quite easily, and he took her breasts in hand, carefully sliding his fingers over and then under each bra cup, rubbing a thumb over her nipple until it hardened and he switched to the other one, giving it the same attention.

He captured her mouth in a swift and bruising kiss, for where else could he make his mark that wouldn’t be possibly noticed?

Sansa arched her back, trying to grind her hips against his, and he broke the kiss to click his tongue at her,

“Ah-ah-ah, not yet…I’ll let you go when I’m ready for you to _touch me,_ and not before.”

She whimpered again, and one glance at her face told him she was more than ready for that, but he was still enjoying his slow and lazy discovery of her.

Her shorts were well fitted, but when he unsnapped the button and tugged the zipper down, they slid down her hips and over her legs quite easily.

She all but kicked them aside, leaving only her panties remaining.

They were black, edged with lace.

Petyr smirked,

“Are these new?”

Sansa just nodded, and he could have purred in delight. She picked up quick on the new rules of the game.

“They’re lovely sweetling. I’m going to let go of your hands, but I want you to keep them above your head, no touching me, got it?”

He eyed her carefully, and only after she nodded did he withdraw his hands, only to place them on her now bare hips, where he hooked his thumbs into the sides of her panties, and drew them down slowly, as he moved to kneel before her.

She might have been playing the submissive, but he was the one on the ground prepared to worship her.

The first brush of his lips against her clit made her gasp, and he could tell how difficult it was to keep her arms up.

So he didn’t torture her long, he took one long sweeping lick at her slit and kissed her for just a few moments, until he could feel her legs shaking.

He smirked, before giving her sex one final swipe of his tongue, and moving back up to stand.

The slight look of dazed wonder on her face was a reward all its own.

“Now, come here, follow me.”

Quoting the bible for more than sinful use? Check.

Using Varys’ chair for said sinful activity? Check.

He took a seat, and gestured for her to kneel.

She did, silent and wide eyed, the perfect player.

“Now, you’ve only touched me once, would you like to do it again?”

Sansa nodded at once, and her eyes dropped to his groin unashamedly.

He chuckled,

“All right, then, go on.”

As if telling her to confess, so he was giving her permission to do whatever she pleased with him. She was cautious, nervous, and it showed. Her hands slide up his thighs and to the edge of his pants, for he’d already untucked his shirt to make things a little easier for her, and the first brush of her fingers against his skin made him jump.

He was already nearing full hardness and she’d barely touched his body at all.

He watched, holding his breath almost as she slid the zipper down, and reached inside, fingers slipping past and under his boxers, and when her palm met the sensitive skin of his cock he nearly swore aloud.

Reciting various bible verses and trying to remember what was said about sexual relations inside a church was all that kept him from embarrassing himself quite before it would have been allowed.

Sure, she was new at this, but if he was to come soon and unexpected, she’d have a wrong sense of how it should be.

“Is this all right?”

Her soft voice, uncertain, broke through the haze inside his brain he’d created to prolong it all, and he focused his gaze on her to find she was about to lower her lips to kiss him, right on the tip.

Instead of trying to speak, which was a bit beyond his capabilities, he nodded.

Sansa smiled only for a moment, before engulfing him as far as she could in her mouth.

He couldn’t quite restrain himself from thrusting right up into that, soft, wet, warmth, nearly as wonderful as she’d felt over his hand, and certainly she knew exactly what she was doing with her tongue, for his eyes began to cross at that.

“I think, maybe, you should just stick to…”

He trailed off, his hand unconsciously finding its way to her hair, and when he tugged slightly on the scarlet lengths, she didn’t stop, didn’t say a word, just kept moving over him, eyes locked onto his.

Okay well, that was it, he was over, done for, check and mate.

Petyr came with a groan, and his thighs didn’t quite ache, for he’d not really fought off his climax for that long he was embarrassed to make note.

Sansa pulled away from his softening cock with an obscene sort of noise, licking her lips and wiping her mouth on the back of her free hand and he instantly wanted nothing more than to kiss that hand, worship her, and preferably take her over Varys’ desk.

“Holy fuck.”

He managed to curse, and Sansa looked rather proud of herself in that moment as well, smiling far too sweetly for what she’d just done.

“Was it good for you?”

She asked, a rather innocent lilt to her voice, and he narrowed his gaze,

“I think you know sweetling…where did you learn to do that?”

With whom…he wanted to ask.

But he just barely restrained himself.

A sexually satisfied Petyr Baelish was a jealous Petyr Baelish.

Her cheeks pinked,

“Oh…my friend Margaery gave me some hints, about what to do with a guy, and I also did a little research Sunday night when I got home.”

She looked rather shy about admitting that, and Petyr wasn’t quite sure why, considering what they’d already done.

Just in that night alone.

“Well, thank her for me. It wasn’t just good, it was pretty much mind blowing and I’m honestly not sure I want to leave this room ever.”

Sansa giggled sweetly, and he decided that yes, he might leave the room to follow her, anywhere.

“So, now we’re even?” She asked, and titled a brow at him, baffling him slightly, even as he began to tuck himself away, straighten his clothes, and generally look more like a priest than a man who’d imagined fucking a girl in the deacon’s office.

“It’s not orgasm for orgasm sweetling. Those are just lucky byproducts of sexual coupling. You’re very good, as am I, it seems. We’re really good, together. So don’t try to keep score. We’ll just see how it goes.”

He stood, and placed his hand under her chin, for she still remained kneeling at his feet, and he couldn’t put to words how beautiful she looked like that, until he realized the time, and held out his hand for her, to help her stand, and retrieved her shorts.

“Drive safe, all right?”

He told her, and she nodded, before reaching out to unlock the door, she turned back, for one last kiss, and he let his eyes close for just a second, and after it ended, only then did he open them.

He was playing with fire, and he didn’t even care that he was going to get burned.

*

The gaps between Sundays, and now Wednesdays, were lessened somewhat by the sporadic texted conversations and occasional photo chats.

Sansa was more than a little disappointed Petyr refused to send her a snap of his dick. Even if it was only three seconds?

He said no.

Two seconds?

No.

Well, one second wasn’t hardly enough to get a good look, so she didn’t bother trying to fight for that, and she knew the real reason he wouldn’t was because he knew she’d screenshot it.

So what?

She wanted to have it like a trophy, to be able to look at it and know, it belonged to her. In a manner of speaking.

He certainly liked telling her he was the only one who could touch her and taste her and have her over the desk.

Well, he hadn’t _done_ that but he’d told her he wished that he could have.

Sansa decided she would have let him too, even with the higher chance of discovery, more out and open than against the door, or inside a confessional booth.

The fact of the matter was, she very much wanted to get on her knees for him inside the booth, but she wasn’t quite sure about the space.

She didn’t want to feel crowded or rushed.

The way he’d reacted to her giving him a blowjob, her first time performing such an act, only made her want to reenact it sooner rather than later.

‘Do you like me?’

He texted her at four am on Saturday morning, luckily she was still awake, having marathoned the latest season of her favorite TV show.

Sansa frowned at her phone, and thought it had to be a typo.

He probably meant ‘do you like my dick?’

She typed back the obvious, ‘Of course.’

‘Do you _like_ like me?’

Now she knew he was fucking with her, what were they, twelve?

She was unable to keep from smiling, and she texted him a photo with the caption, ‘Yes, do you like like me? LoL.’

Instead of a cheeky photo or sext, her phone started buzzing.

He was just calling.

Sansa blinked, once, twice, and then answered,

“Hello?”

“Sansa.”

She grinned wider,

“This is she. What’s up?”

“I’m sorry, I think you misunderstood me.”

Sansa felt something like a bite at the edge of her brain. Like a mosquito of doubt, poisoning her very, very slowly.

“What?”

“I couldn’t write what I really wanted to. I don’t just like you; I think I’m falling in love with you. Is that okay? Or does that make you want to stop this whole thing?”

Sansa could have jumped up and down, and instantly the white light of euphoria erased the poison of doubt better than a fly swatter could have defeated any such bug,

“ _REALLY?”_

Her voice came out a shrill squeal, and she knew he was probably wincing, and regretting his decision to tell her such a thing. But then he was chuckling, his voice gentle, and low,

“Yes, really. It was probably the easiest thing in the world. Letting myself admit the truth, that was harder. Am I to take your excitement as a hint that maybe you don’t completely feel indifferent to me?”

Sansa took a deep breath, and let it back out, and in again, and then she finally breathed out a reply,

“Petyr…I think I’ve wanted to fall in love my entire life, and I just didn’t ever pick the right boy, guy, _man_ , until I met you. I didn’t even plan to fall in love…like, whatever, with you, but you’re so very much like all I can see myself wanting in the world…”

She trailed off, wincing at how utterly cheesy and cliché she sounded.

Petyr was silent until she stopped,

“Sansa, dear, and I do mean dear in every sense of the word, you shook up my world, like no one has. Not really. I’ve had bad luck in all my relationships, and so I made the decision to give up on earthly love, and devote myself to a higher calling. Turns out, I’m utter shit at that relationship too. But only because I’m so in love with you.”

Another few minutes were spent talking, exchanging flowery phrases, until Sansa realized what time it was, and that tomorrow she’d see him, and have to pretend that he was just back to being her priest.

“I don’t know how I will be able to keep my eyes off of you.” She lamented, and he sighed,

“I don’t either. Or my hands…”

Sansa felt her cheeks heat even as warmth spread throughout her entire body.

It was as if he’d flipped some kind of switch inside of her.

“I don’t want you to. I’ll come to you as soon as I can.”

Petyr growled,

“Come _for_ me.”

Sansa swore that her muscles clenched involuntarily at his command.

“I can’t wait to.”

“Then don’t. Touch yourself as soon as you hang up. Then send me a picture after.”

He blew her a kiss and said goodnight, and Sansa was left staring at her phone in shock.

Sure, they’d sexted, mildly, back and forth, with the whole ‘what are you doing, thinking of you, what are you wearing?’ bit, but never gotten very explicit, so that was a whole new low, or high, Sansa wondered, her hand already sliding down beneath the seam of her sleep shorts, slipping between her legs, finding herself wet, naturally, his voice always got her hot even when he was talking about the most innocent of things.

It didn’t take long.

She took a selfie with shaky hands and sent it.

*

Indeed, staring at her only off and on throughout the day was the hardest thing he’d ever done, and when he finally could flee to the confessional booth to await her, he nearly ran.

It was ridiculous.

He felt giddy almost for her, and after the night before it was rather like he walked on air everywhere he went.

The idea simmering on the back burner of his mind was insane but became more and more intriguing by the moment, and it wasn’t until she’d climbed inside the booth, kissed him so hard he thought his eyes might cross, and gotten on her knees in front of him, eager hands undoing his trousers, that he voiced it.

“Marry me.”

Sansa looked up at him, eyes wide, lips parted, just inches shy of his hard cock, and he tried to concentrate on her, and the words, even though her hands were still moving over his shaft.

“What?”

Petyr gritted his teeth, and finally reached down to still her hands, the action of which drew a mild pout from her.

“I want nothing more in this world than you. So, would you marry me?”

Sansa gulped, and looked around, the tiny room they basically occupied, before whispering,

“Are you sure this is the right thing to ask? I haven’t even put you in my mouth yet…you’re just overexcited.”

Petyr fought the urge to slap himself for being so stupid, and instead rolled his eyes, before reaching down, lifting her into his lap, during which she carefully parted her legs so that she wouldn’t crush him when she landed, and then he put a firm hand under her chin, forcing her to look right at him,

“Sansa. No matter what you do to me, nothing will ever make me want this less. I know it’s crazy, I know it’s impossible, but so is love. There it is. I want you, forever. If you want to think about it, that’s fine. If you think you aren’t ready, you want to try this sort of thing out with other men, sure it will hurt, but I’d wait. Until all my hair is grey, I’ll wait.”

To his mild horror, he saw her bottom lip begin to quiver, and her clear blue eyes grew shiny,

“Petyr…that’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me…I mean, I’m barely eighteen, but yes, I’d love to marry you. Crazy or not.”

Petyr couldn’t keep from beaming, even as he leaned in to kiss her fiercely, his arms wrapping around her, hands reaching to hold every bit of her he could touch.

Letting her go wasn’t an option now, he was going to go down in flames, down with the ship, and he didn’t regret it at all.

Not a single moment.

Buying the plane tickets to Las Vegas felt absolutely fucking cheesy as hell, but she was standing right beside him, holding his hand the whole time, and nothing had ever felt so right.

Sure, she’d lied about where she was going for the night, but her friend Margaery was ever so helpful, their little sidekick cheerleader of sorts, and Petyr had heard when she screamed in Sansa’s ear over the phone, though he’d been a few feet away.

It took only a few hours, and then they were checking into the closest, and cheapest, hotel, as Mr. and Mrs. Baelish, and Sansa, for her part, couldn’t stop smiling.

Infectious, that’s how her joy was.

Petyr only took a brief glance out the window to the balcony before his young bride stole his attention right back, practically tackling him onto the bed, her knees locked around his waist, and the same thing on her mind as was currently taking over his.

“Congratulations sweetling, you’ve done it, you stole a man back from god himself.”

Sansa licked her lips and beamed,

“Now my next biggest accomplishment will be fucking my husband til neither of us can walk.”

Petyr cocked a brow at her, and instantly, he’d flipped them so he was on top of her,

“Is that a challenge?”

Sansa giggled,

“Yes?”

Petyr leaned down to kiss the tip of her nose, a tender expression of affection, considering how hard he’d gotten just from her taking charge for the moment,

“I accept.”

*

 

 

**END**

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're all sinners here, each one better after every chapter...sin and sin well.
> 
> ...stay tuned, next time it will be the star wars AU...


	7. Magic and Mayhem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Potterverse AU set somewhere around an alternate Fifth Book, with cameos from who you expect, as well as a look at the war from an outsiders perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a slight bit darker than my other stories, and there's a tidge of violence mentioned.
> 
> student/teacher dalliance too, so if that's a problem look away!
> 
> this is of course inspired by this gifset:  
> http://petyrbaelishs.tumblr.com/post/126509315756/  
> this graphic:  
> http://shippingcreepystyle.tumblr.com/post/147509185251
> 
>  
> 
> also there's 800 words of pointless set up because i can't help myself before our two meet.

At the start of the semester, Sansa had remembered the owl her mother sent her, warning her to be more careful, now that Voldemort had returned, and dark wizards were on the run and the rise, and she would be asking an old friend to keep an eye on her, as he was the new assistant head of Slytherin house. Their family was mixed, slightly, with her youngest siblings’ half bloods and her eldest two muggleborn and half blood.

Sansa had been the only Stark sorted into the infamous house, and while Arya, Bran and Rickon had gotten Gryffindor, both her older brothers, Jon,( technically adopted, and as such, a muggleborn), and Robb, had been Ravenclaw.

They’d graduated two years past, and she was now in her final year too, still unsure what she wanted to do when she truly left the hallowed brick walls of Hogwarts behind.

Back to the letter, her mother had urged to be careful of speaking too much to anyone in her house, bit close minded of her, but Sansa didn’t really have many friends anyway. She’d always been a bit of a loner, especially since Arya was too often stealing the spotlight, yelling and hooting and becoming the youngest Keeper on the Gryffindor Quidditch team in over a decade.

Nevermind the fact that a far more impressive record had been broken by some messy haired kid with glasses in Arya’s house, first youngest Seeker in over a _century_ didn’t quite compare.

Sansa chewed her toast thoughtfully, the morning having dawned cloudy, gloomy, and all around depressing. She’d only left the Slytherin commons because it was twice as gloomy inside a dungeon surrounded by the dark water of the lake, and shadows that were probably just the Giant Squid feeling around for some breakfast of its own.

Sunday’s were always her least favorite day of the week. School resumed tomorrow, and the weather wasn’t nice enough to spend the day outside, so it was merely like enjoying the last day before an execution.

So very depressing.

She’d already finished her homework, so she didn’t have that to distract her. She always did it Friday night, because she could stay up as late as she wanted, slept half of Saturday, went to Hogsmeade, and then Sunday had arrived.

She turned to look to the Headmasters table, where all the teachers who felt like emerging from their nests/cocoons, in Professor Trelawney’s case, more literal than one would think, and she caught sight of the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Professor Baelish.

She’d never liked that class, simply because it could either require far too much participation, or far too little, and become dull or dreadful.

She hated interacting with the students, mostly because they were all Gryffindors except for a choice few, namely the white blond Malfoys and Targaryens, and the lion hearts hated all Slytherins anyway, so why bother fighting it?

If she had any one person she could call a friend, it would be Daenerys Targaryen, but unfortunately in the last year and a half, she’d gotten a bit too popular, and Sansa found herself being shoved off to the side in favor of some girl with perfect skin and a sheet of black hair, star seeker from Ravenclaw.

Sansa didn’t really have the energy to care, and the only place she found herself retreating to wasn’t the commons, but the library.

She avoided most corner tables, as they held less studious students and more students attentive to _each_ other than the books, and one spot in particular always had the same frizzy haired girl, Gryffindor of course, surrounded by piles of books taller than Sansa.

Luckily, that left a final area with squishy chairs and small tables right by a window, where, on a clear day, one could see all the way past the lake to what Sansa imagined was the skyscrapers of London.

It was impossible of course, but she liked to pretend.

That day she’d left the Great Hall with only one prospect in mind, finding a book about dire and were wolves, and she was going to learn how to properly adopt and domesticate one.

She didn’t care if they were dangerous, after all, Daenerys had always bragged about one day having three dragons for her pets, so Sansa was really being reasonable if anything.

By the time she’d developed a crick in her neck from reading, curled in the same spot, it was nearly dinner time, and the library was empty.

She got up, slowly, and rather ungracefully from the cushioned chair, and prepared to reach for the book to go put it away, when she heard a rustle nearby.

Instantly goose bumps rose on the back of her neck, and she’d withdrawn her wand, prepared to curse the snot out of any little Slytherin who thought they’d play a prank.

 _‘Lumos,’_ she whispered, lighting up the rows of bookcases more brightly than the enchanted candles could at such a late hour. It was risky performing magic outside of class, but Sansa knew she’d crafted a good enough reputation to squeeze her luck.

“Who’s there?”

She finally called out, after another moment of silence, and another sound like a book falling from a shelf.

Suddenly there was someone stepping into the light, long black robes, but for his collar, emerald green and a silver gleam of a pin at his throat. It was Professor Baelish.

“Professor…” Her eyes widened, and she whispered, ‘Nox.’

Sansa lowered her wand, and winced at how he was squinting slightly. She might have still blinded him, a little. She just prayed that he wouldn’t dock her house any points for her paranoia.

“Miss Stark, were you planning on skipping dinner tonight? I wouldn’t recommend it, with a large amount of classes and exams this week.”

A semblance of a smile twisted his mouth, and she watched as he looked her over, up and down and back again.

Why did he do that?

He knew who she was.

She tucked her wand away and grabbed the book,

“I was just leaving.”

Professor Baelish nodded,

“Excellent. I’ll escort you to the Hall.”

Sansa was frowning before she could stop herself,

“Why? I can find it perfectly fine. Prefect remember?”

She smiled weakly at her little joke, and he humored her with another smirk, his eyes, almost the exact shade of green as his collar, seemed to sparkle with amusement,

“I believe you. But it’s not safe for any student to be out alone, though they haven’t formally announced it, they’ll be implementing a new policy, until the Ministry can catch up to You-Know-Who. For students safety, when not traveling in pairs, a Professor must accompany them.”

Sansa blinked, how did he know so much about the operations of the Ministry?

“You mean Voldemort?”

She didn’t miss his wince at the name, but she’d never understood why people danced around the dark wizards name. It wasn’t even his real name, she’d long since decided. What kind of mother would name their child that, unless she _wanted_ him to turn evil?

“Indeed.”

After she’d returned the book to the enchanted basket at the front of the library, it vanished, no doubt being placed back exactly where it belonged, and Professor Baelish stopped, offering her his arm,

“Shall we?”

Sansa took it, somewhat reluctantly.

She wasn’t sure what to think. Would people think she’d been serving detention after being seen with him?

She was a good student, a prefect and in the top five percent of her class, and indeed, of all the houses, except Gryffindor and their little genius. She’d never gotten in trouble for anything in her entire life.

Arriving at the Great Hall seemed to happen in a rush, as if she’d forgotten all memory of the journey, and when the Professor dropped her arm, she felt her skin still warm from where he’d touched her.

“Enjoy your dinner Miss Stark. And don’t worry, you aren’t in any trouble.”

He gave her a wink, so she thought, or maybe she’d imagined it.

“Thanks, you too.”

She murmured too late, he was already halfway down the aisle to take his place by Professor Sinstra’s side, leaving Sansa standing alone, a few steps from her house table.

The blond Malfoy waved her over, and she sat down beside him, heaving out a sigh. It was a good thing he had light eyes, otherwise she’d mix him up with Daenerys’s brother Viserys, for they looked nearly identical. Viserys was dangerous though, that she knew well, he’d cursed a first year for touching his book, in, she forget which subject, and gotten a severe warning, but not enough to even scare him off from doing such a thing. He was a little bit crazy, and Sansa shivered to imagine what it would be like to be on his bad side.

Just being of his house meant she was safe, for the time being.

She wasn’t sure even Daenerys could control him.

Malfoy, Draco, that was his name, spoke to her,

“Where’v you been all afternoon? Didn’t see you at the Quidditch game. We slaughtered Hufflepuff, wish you could’v seen.”

Sansa smiled faintly,

“That’s great. Glad to hear it.”

“So why didn’t you come?”

Sansa didn’t want to admit she really didn’t care to watch if Gryffindor’s team wasn’t playing, as it held Arya and Bran now, so she just shrugged,

“I had a headache from working on my homework last night, so I slept in a little late.”

Malfoy nodded, understandingly.

“That new Defense Professor is terrible. He gave me 15 inches of homework, all because I messed up one charm and set the board on fire. One time! If that happened in Potions, Snape wouldn’t give a fuck.”

That made Sansa smile.

Watching the two of them, Professor Snape and Professor Baelish interact, or rather, try not to kill each other on a daily basis was the most fun she’d had her entire schooling year.

They seemed to be natural enemies, and she wished she knew more of the why.

“Well at least you didn’t lose any points.”

She answered, diplomatic til the end, and Malfoy sighed,

“Yeah true. McGonagall is out to get me I swear.”

Another round of babbling mixed with complaining that Sansa tried to tune out. It was why she rarely tried to keep any conversations going with the rest of her house. They were a bunch of whiners masquerading as tough guys.

She’d heard more than a few rumors that the Malfoys and Targaryens’ both had been loyal to Voldemort, but there was no concrete proof when one could claim to have been under the Imperius curse.

It was utter tripe in her opinion.

*

Petyr watched as the eldest Stark girl dined with her housemates, and he fought the urge to laugh when he saw her glance away from the Malfoy spawn and roll her eyes. Surely talking to that brat was like being tortured by piranhas. Slow and painful, but not deadly until the end.

She was far too patient and kind for her own good. He knew it would probably get her killed one day. Just like how he’d once been for her mother. Stupidly loyal and foolish in love.

Love was really blind sometimes.

It was ironic that he had such a bad working relationship with his fellow Slytherin Professor, for they really had more in common than they did different.

Snape might have acted the part of a pureblood who resented anything less, but Petyr knew the truth. He was half blood just like a high percentage of the students.

Pure bloods were all but dying out, as no families practiced intermarriage or inbreeding incestual marriage anymore.

The last dynasty of that was the Targaryens, and judging by the way the last daughter eyed a seventh year Ravenclaw, it wasn’t likely to continue that direction much longer.

Oh Petyr wasn’t a fool, he knew how prejudices still ran deep, and likely always would, until there was a severe shakeup in house Sorting.

Or until Voldemort was defeated.

He’d been supremely impressed that the Stark girl had used the Dark Lord’s real name, or at least his adopted name, and not even batted an eyelash.

The Starks had always been foolhardy and unusually brave and foolish, but they truly had the blood of the wolves in them.

Their line would not go down without a fight.

Speaking of which…

Oh yes, Petyr had noticed how the scarlet haired girl had watched him, off and on all semester, and he had the ashes of a letter from Cat that explained it all.

He was supposed to be keeping an eye on all the Starks, ensuring they didn’t run into any trouble from potential loyalists to the Dark Lord, or even simply bullying for their name, but there was only one member who ever had gotten flack, and he usually put a stop to it fairly quick on his own. Jon StarknSnow, the so called Bastard, and not true son.

Petyr snorted.

The way he had looked, always angry, and acted, like he owned the place, he was going to grow up just like his step-father without any help. He’d graduated the year before, with Robb the actual blood Stark son, and thus, only the four youngest remained for Petyr to have to worry about.

The littlest wolf, Rickon, was a beloved member of the Gryffindor house, and the other two, Bran and Arya were more on the edge of troublemaking/affectionate rogues.

He didn’t care about them one bit. Sansa was the only object of his attention and indeed, devotion.

At first it had been strange, seeing her only as the daughter he could have had, in a better world, had he been able to win Cat for his own, but thanks to blood status and past actions, she’d deemed him a bad influence and a poor match for herself.

Was being pure blood a crime? No. Yet she still saw it as such, as a flaw, and she doubted he could be loyal to her, for it was true, he’d never been devoted to a single woman or girl in his childhood.

But it had been because he only loved her. Anyone else was merely a distraction, not worth any sort of real commitment.

And so it went.

Sansa was the only Stark he wanted to see survive the upcoming war, and yes, there would be one. The loyalists would rise up and reveal their true intentions when their Lord got enough power, enough to be a true threat, and the war between light and dark wizards and witches would commence.

Petyr could only hope that he would escape the country before that could happen, but if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that chaos could not be controlled, it was a ticking time bomb, that could speed up or keep on going as long as necessary.

Walking back from his office, in the secluded hallway that led to the dungeons and offices above, he heard something, like two cats fighting.

The closer he got to the noise, the more he realized it was not animals, but students, cavorting in a dark corner, behind a tapestry.

He smirked to himself.

They thought they were so clever.

He pulled out his wand, prepared to simply send a mild shocking charm, when he heard one of the pair begin to protest.

“Stop it. You know I didn’t mean this…I just said I wanted to talk, and now, Draco, quit.”

“Come on you know you want to, we’d be so good together…”

Petyr had heard about enough, and he cast a charm to disintegrate the tapestry, exposing  Draco Malfoy and Sansa Stark. Draco’s hands locked tightly around her wrists, and he was holding her impossibly close, yet she was squirming away, and had her hands been free, Petyr had no doubt she’d have cursed him something dreadful.

“Mister Malfoy, Miss Stark…what do we have here?”

Sansa’s eyes went wide, and Draco dropped her at once, like she’d burned him.

“Nothing sir. Just out for an evening patrol.”

Sansa answered at once, blithe and light, as if she did it every night.

“Indeed.” Petyr murmured, glancing at Draco, who nodded at once.

“Yep. Just prefects keeping the halls clear.”

Petyr sighed, and shrugged,

“Forgive me, I assumed something else entirely, run along now Malfoy, you’ve done your job. Miss Stark, a word.”

The blond barely gave a second glance before booking it for the dungeons, and Petyr was left staring at Sansa, alone in the corridor, and if he wasn’t mistaken, her cheeks were turning pink.

“I’m very sorry for that Professor, I tried to fight him off, but I’ve not quite gotten the hang of non-verbal spells yet…”

She smiled, somewhat sadly, and instantly he was stepping towards her, somewhat desperate to comfort her,

“Not at all, you’re not in trouble, don’t worry. If anything, I’ll dock some points tomorrow to scare Malfoy, and let you earn them back.”

He trailed off, and realized quite the way that had sounded.

However, Sansa looked intrigued,

“How? I’ve finished all my homework, and there’s only a few hours until lights out.”

Petyr fought the mad urge to laugh, and instead lifted his wand to the shreds of the tapestry,

“The problem is, sometimes students just aren’t thinking straight.”

He charmed it back together, and hung in proper, before casting a silencing charm on it.

“Now, try that. Step behind it and say something, anything.”

Sansa eyed it warily, before doing as he’d asked, vanishing behind it, and he assumed, talking normally.

Not a word.

She peered out from behind it,

“Well?”

Petyr smirked,

“Nothing.”

Her red eyebrow lifted in what he hoped was amazement.

“Wow. That’s clever.”

“Indeed. Here.”

He stepped forward, and slipped behind it, now pressed against the wall, with her only a few inches away, they both stood behind the tapestry, and even as footsteps sounded around them, Sansa didn’t muffle her laugh.

“That’s more than clever, it’s brilliant. I’ll have to remember it next time…”

She trailed off, and he felt something like ice harden his veins.

She wanted to be caught with Malfoy again?

She didn’t meet his gaze when he asked,

“You do this sort of thing often Miss Stark?”

She shook her head.

“No sir. I just meant…if I need to ever…”

She looked up again, meeting his gaze at last, and something in it made her pause.

He looked back, glad to drown in the blue of those eyes.

“I’m very grateful to you Professor, for keeping an eye on me this year. I know my mother asked you to.”

Cat was, quite frankly, the last thing on earth he wanted to talk about or think about, facing Sansa, and being so close he could just reach out and touch, any part of her.

So he did.

His thumb and forefinger plucked up a lock of crimson, and he rubbed it between his fingers, reveling in how soft it felt. He wondered what charms she used on it.

“I’m happy to watch you Sansa.”

He saw her throat move, and he knew she was likely feeling as nervous and possibly shaky as he was.

He looked up from where he’d subtly been checking out her shirt, how the dark of her bra seeped through the pure white beneath her green and silver tie, and he saw she was looking rather mystified. Lips parted, eyes glazed, she was holding her breath, for what, he thought he’d confirm.

“Thank you Professor, you’re very kind.”

He smiled, half a smile, and leaned in, dropping the lock of hair, in favor of reaching for her, one hand gently stroking the side of her neck, the other brushing her cheek,

“Call me Petyr.”

*

Sansa’s exclamation of shock was swallowed by Professor Baelish’s mouth on hers. To think, a mere handful of minutes before Draco had been trying to do the exact same thing, and yet, how Professor Baelish was kissing her was the ideal, the dream, the fantasy she’d always pictured.

Not with him, of course, but it was as if he’d plucked the image out of her head, and all her wishing had brought it to life.

His one hand cupped her cheek and the other held her neck, fingers stroking the nape, tangling in her hair, and she instantly reached for him in return, arms wrapping around his torso, wanting him closer.

He devoured her, his hand guiding her head to tilt so he could have better access to her mouth, his tongue pressing forward, parting her lips, as she sighed, he pressed closer.

She fought back with her teeth, snagging his bottom lip and biting just hard enough to rip a groan from his throat, and maybe the ghost of a chuckle.

The kiss broke.

“You are of the wolf. That much is true.”

He said, somewhat fondly, she thought, his thumb rubbing over the apple of her cheek, and she bit her lip, fighting the urge to blush, though she knew she likely was already.

What was she doing?

She’d never done a thing wrong in her entire life, and just one look from him had set fire to that house of cards she’d carefully balanced and built.

She knew it should have made her uneasy, the way he watched her, the way his eyes always lingered on her, in the name of protection, but she didn’t care. She _liked_ it.

She wanted more.

She licked her lips and dared to meet his gaze again, stunned by the darkness she saw amongst a tiny ring of green.

“That…was…very…nice.”

Professor Baelish…Petyr, was grinning, looking very much like a smug cat that’d already long since swallowed the canary with a bowl of cream.

“Not your first I hope. I wouldn’t want to ruin the rest of the wizarding world for you.”

Sansa’s laugh sounded forced even to her ears.

“Oh no, not at all.”

His gaze dipped down to her breasts again, and back up, and she wondered how he could do that, look at her like she was naked, even through two layers of her uniform.

“You’re not a good liar Sansa.”

“Sorry.” Her voice had sunk to a whisper, back like it had been when she’d first tried to tell Draco off.

Now there was no real need to be quiet, but it didn’t matter.

“Don’t apologize, never to me. Just tell me, did you like this? Do you have a problem with it? Because I have wanted it since the moment I saw you, and realized that you weren’t just a ghost of my past.”

She frowned slightly, and then knew he had to be referring to her mother.

“I…”

There was no clock ticking, but Sansa knew, it was time to be headed back. The Slytherin dormitories were not far, but she didn’t want any trouble.

Petyr seemed to sense her anxiety.

“Of course. You need to think about it. Run along now, sleep well.”

Before his hand left her face, he pressed his thumb over her bottom lip, and she saw how he looked at her, truly unveiled, as if he was starving, and she was his last meal.

“You too.”

She said, far too late.

*

It didn’t take long for Petyr to become addicted to her. To her presence in his classroom, to her hair beneath his fingertips, to her kisses, to her hands on his shoulders, gripping especially tightly when he finally let himself venture beyond the covered skin, below, under, and where he discovered just how much she did want him back.

There was his office, where he’d taken her, set her on his desk, and dropped to his knees to fully worship her, looking up at her only to see just how her face looked when she came.

There was his bed, where she finally confessed a dream she’d had, and acted it out in detail, making good use of her school tie, practically making him beg for her.

There was winter break, when she decided to stay at Hogwarts, and he did too, of course, to keep an eye on her.

She spent a whole night and day with him, telling anyone who asked she’d been in the library and the commons.

In reality, he’d tied _her_ up and couldn’t even make her beg very long, he could only give her what she wanted, which, was currently him.

The end of the semester came all too soon, and with it, tragic news of the resurgence of the Dark Lord’s activities, he’d attacked the Potter boy at the Ministry, of all places, and things looked to be going very bad, very fast.

Petyr was forced to resign, out of guilt, and something else, something dark and twisted inside of him, which smacked of cowardice.

He couldn’t survive another year around her and not go mad when he couldn’t have her, so he decided to break it off first, before she could condemn him to die alone with her pretty lips.

He rode the train into platform 9 ¾ and from there, he planned to take a muggle cab as far as they’d go. His suitcase was heavy in his hand, so he transfigured it to a slim and curved metallic electronic looking device. Everyone around him, muggles that was, had one anyway.

He’d been prepared to step over the threshold, when he heard his name being called. He squeezed his eyes shut, and tried to run, but his legs refused to cooperate.

So he turned to face his damnation. Her hair flowed behind her like liquid fire, and indeed, he’d seen it spilled over his pillows in the morning light enough times to know how apt the comparison was.

Her eyes were wet with tears, and he suspected it wasn’t for having to leave Hogwarts.

“Miss Stark.” He spoke as coldly as he could muster, but even still, his tone softened on her name.

“Where are you going?”

He shrugged,

“I’m not sure, and it’s probably better you don’t know.”

Her lower lip quivered,

“Why did you leave?”

Petyr sighed, and much as it pained him, he wished nothing more than to be able to scoop her into his arms, and never let her go, but there were hundreds of students and parents around. Doubtless hers were soon to follow.

“The position is cursed. It’s a funny joke, a rumor, but something just wouldn’t let me stay. I’m not leaving because of you, I’m leaving for me. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

He smiled halfway, and watched as it sank in.

She nodded, and blinked, two perfect tears sliding down her pale cheeks. How he wanted to kiss them away, and promise he’d never really leave her…

But he couldn’t.

“You can’t just disappear…I love you.”

The words were a final dagger into his heart, even as he caught a glimpse of a second red haired woman in the distance.

Cat.

She had a place, and he had a place, and it was never the same one.

“You grow out of it.”

He answered her, sad yet firm.

She looked rather like he’d slapped her in the face.

“Okay.”

She turned away, and began to walk towards her family, and instead of feeling lighter, he felt as if he was carrying even more baggage.

What had he done?

*

The war was long, and yet not, it seemed to never end until the smoke cleared, and the bodies could be collected and counted.

It had not been kind to the Starks, and Sansa was left alone in the world, her name the only strength she had left.

She’d been found in a pile of rubble in her house, half dead, covered in blood and with numerous injuries internal and external. A cloud of gold sparks had been hovering over her, probably the last spell she’d had the strength to cast.

Waking up in St. Mungos was the second worst experience of her life. Though a broken heart could hardly compare to broken bones. The betrayal of the Malfoys and the Targaryens had meant little when she’d had to walk away from the only person she’d ever loved, and thought she’d been loved back.

Voldemort had been defeated, but at great cost. Hogwarts itself had been ground zero, and the great castle was half destroyed from the battle, and far too many students had been unlucky to get caught in the crossfire.

Sansa had been home, kept back from her final year, along with the rest of her family, for their safety, her parents had said.

It didn’t stop the Death Eaters from coming for them, and threatening them if they didn’t join they’d die. Well, they sure held their own.

Sansa had thought she’d died a couple times already, but it seemed, her will to live was just too stubborn.

Everything hurt when she was able to return to consciousness, and the light of the room was far too painful for her eyes to bear.

“You’re awake.”

The voice was a whisper, a gasp, and a curse and a blessing all in one.

Sansa didn’t want to open her eyes to find herself trapped in yet another dream that would end the beauty upon waking.

“No…please…I can’t…”

A warm hand, rough with calluses, hauntingly familiar, was holding her cold one, a thumb rubbing circles over the back of her knuckles.

“You’re safe. You’re in the hospital. You’ll be right as rain in another day. You’ll be in my protective custody.”

Of course. There was no one else she could be with. No other family.

They’d all been slaughtered when they refused to cooperate…all but her.

She’d been danced around like a puppet, a plaything, offered up to several Death Eaters until Malfoy had requested her for his own, but she said she’d rather die.

He hadn’t liked that.

Tears squeezed out of her closed eyes, and she turned her face away from him.

Petyr.

Who else could it be?

“Shh, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

Now he was stroking her hair, her dirty, matted hair, back from her face.

She didn’t want him to even look at her.

She’d never looked so hideous.

Marred in scars that might never fade, bruises that would, but still marred her perfect face for the moment.

“No.”

“Okay, I’ll leave you alone. Sleep now.”

A butterfly’s wings, so light were his lips on her forehead, and it didn’t even hurt. Though she knew she had a cut above one eye, scabbing up with the help of Dittany and something else she didn’t remember the name of.

Blackness swallowed her whole.

She did wake up the next day, and everything was a little better.

She could move without screaming in agony, and she was helped into a shower, with a seat, in case she fell, and the medi-witch helped her get cleaned up as good as new.

As could be.

They helped her into a wheelchair, and took her past the other rooms filled with people in various stages of healing, dying or death, and she was soon being lifted to her feet, being told she was strong enough for that, and _he_ was going to walk her to a car.

Car?

Easier than a broom or Apparating in her current state, of course.

She leaned her forehead against the glass, letting the cold seep into her skin, keeping her eyes shut as long as possible. Willing it all to be a bad dream.

“I know you’re probably angry with me, or caught between anger and grief, but I promise you, I will not take a single moment of your time you do not grant me. You will have an entire side of the house to yourself.”

The words went in one ear and out the other.

But Sansa did appreciate the gesture.

Not that she’d ever allow him to touch her again. Not while she still thought he couldn’t care less about her.

“Where’s my wand?”

She finally asked, her words rubbing raw against her throat.

“I’m afraid it was destroyed. Accidentally. They searched for any remaining sources of power before they went into your house, and they found it along with you. They’ve promised to send me the money covering a replacement. We can go to Diagon Alley as soon as you’d like.”

Great.

She wasn’t even a witch any more.

She was a shade of her past.

*

Every day he had to stay away from her, ached like a phantom limb that he’d lost. He watched her, from the house, from the office, from the window, when she’d walk out into the sea of green that was the garden and the fields beyond, the only sign of her, the flame of red that made up her hair.

He’d wanted to tell her how sorry he was for abandoning her, for not answering back that of course he’d fallen into love right along with her but merely been too afraid to admit it, but he could not. He would not push her.

He only went to her when he found it. A creature not quite a dog, not quite a wolf. Descended from foxes and hounds.

An animal with fur as bright as her hair.

She was walking among the queen’s lace, lost in a sea of white, and he followed.

He wore a bright red coat, so she’d see him coming, and could tell him off if she so desired.

But she didn’t.

She stopped.  She looked at him, and then the creature, and something twitched on her lips.

Not quite a smile, but she was curious.

“What’s that?”

Petyr smiled,

“It’s for you. I thought you’d like something to keep you company. When you return to Hogwarts, you’ll be allowed to bring her with you.”

Sansa stepped closer to him, and he paused, not daring to breath.

“It’s a girl?”

He nodded, choosing silence.

Sansa warmed instantly towards the creature, reaching out to stroke its fur,

“She’s beautiful. Thank you…”

She trailed off, and he could see she was avoiding his gaze purposefully.

She wasn’t yet ready to speak his name.

He didn’t blame her.

“Are you hungry?”

She nodded.

“Come along.”

He carried the creature back towards the house, and didn’t look behind him, but he knew she was following.

 

After dinner was finished and cleared, with a wave of his wand, she spoke again.

“I think I’ll name her Lady. I always wanted a wolf to name that. I imagined she’d be pure white, like snow. But this Lady is just as pretty.”

Sansa leaned down to scratch the creature, Lady’s, ears.

Petyr found himself watching her, something like easy fondness seeping into his veins, and replacing the sad pangs of longing he’d experienced every night she’d been there.

“Whenever you feel ready, you’ll be set up to move into Hogsmeade. I’ve arranged an apartment for you there, to begin after your final semester at Hogwarts. You can live there, and travel to take your extended classes in whatever field you choose.”

 

Sansa’s hand fell from Lady’s ears, and she’d been kneeling beside it, and instead fell to the ground, curling into a ball, hands pressed to the side of her head.

“No, no. I can’t be alone.”

Petyr instantly was at her side, pulling her to her feet, whether she wanted it or not.

“You can, and you will. You cannot stay here forever, why would you want to?”

He chuckled, forcing a laugh, for how ridiculous was that?

She lifted her head from her hands, and looked at him, tears streaking down her cheeks.

“But why do you want me to leave?”

Petyr blinked, once, twice, and shook his head, after gulping a hasty breath,

“I don’t w _ant_ you to leave, but I know you need to become your own person, and _you_ should not want a guardian after a certain age.”

He realized what he’d said a beat too late.

He braced himself for her wrath, but instead her face fell even further,

“You still don’t want me?”

Her voice was a hushed whisper, that would have been stolen by the faintest breeze had they been outside.

Before he could protest, or even formulate a response that was anything but that, she spoke again.

“I mean, I tried to fight myself, I tried to pretend I didn’t care anymore…but I’ve never felt safer than here, with you, since before, at Hogwarts. Please don’t send me away.”

His hands moved from grasping her shoulders, to slide around her waist, and he pulled her into his arms, hugging her tightly.

“Never sweetling, I would never.”

She gripped him tightly, desperately, and pressed her face into the crook of his neck, and he felt her tears dampen his skin.

“No, no, please, don’t cry.”

Petyr spoke as soothingly as he could, stroking the back of her hair with one hand, the other still splayed over her back.

“Do you think you could ever learn to like me?”

She mumbled, somewhat incoherently, but Petyr caught the gist of it.

He pulled back, and stared at her, once again marveling how she could entrance him so with just a look. Blue, endless blue like the seas and skies in one were her eyes.

“Learn? I could sooner learn to stop being a wizard than stop caring for you.”

Sansa looked stunned,

“Really?”

He nodded, lifting a hand to brush away her tears, and she looked at him almost like she couldn’t believe he was really there, holding her.

“I thought…since I told you that day, and you didn’t say anything…”

Petyr sighed,

“It wouldn’t have been proper and if someone had heard, it would have been very bad…back then. Now that I no longer work at Hogwarts and you’re more than past grown, it’s not a problem. Rare, but not bad.”

Instead of any sort of a worded reply, she pounced on him, in a manner of speaking, and stole the words from his mouth with hers pressed tightly against his.

Petyr relaxed into the kiss a few heartbeats later, and held her close again. She tasted like home.

*

Sansa let him lead her upstairs, and to the side of the house she’d never dared explore. His side. It was very reminiscent of his office from Hogwarts, so of course she suspected he’d had a hand in designing it. The room was decorated mainly with gold, silver, and green, with the occasional crimson colored tapestry.

She bit back a smile at the memory dancing on the edge of her mind,

“Are they enchanted?”

She stared pointedly at them, and he smirked,

“Never had a reason to, but perhaps I will some day. There’s no need to worry about being discovered tonight.”  
She knew that, but she couldn’t have helped asking.

He stopped before they reached the bed, and looked at her, careful and cautious.

“Are you sure you want to do anything? We could just sleep, get you used to not being in a bed alone…”

Sansa shook her head. She’d been in an empty bed far too long. She couldn’t stand it another moment.

“I want _you_ , not sleep.”

Petyr smiled, gentler,

“You can’t know how long I’ve waited to hear that.”

He shucked off his rather bright jacket, tossed it aside, and then abandoned non-magic, by using a non-verbal spell to vanish all else but his sleep pants.

Or maybe he transformed his usual trousers into such.

Either way, she was left feeling overdressed, but also unable to look away from his bare chest.

“All right there?”

He asked gently, and Sansa shook her head, eyes having been drawn to his scar, bisecting his chest. It was not a new wound, but she had never seen him without some sort of undershirt or outer robe.

“Ah, yes. This was from my final year at Hogwarts. Quite a nasty cut, thanks to a certain spell a former Death Eater invented. I tried to stop a fight, got in the middle, and this was my thanks.”

Sansa traced a hand over it slowly, feeling his muscles jump slightly and she could feel the pounding of his heartbeat under her fingers.

“I’m so sorry. I thought magic could heal almost anything.”

Petyr shook his head,

“Wounds inflicted by Dark Magic are much harder to heal. They can be, but it takes a lot of skill. Skill is not needed to get into a fight where one is over their head, and that was my mistake.”

Instead of another word, Sansa leant in and placed a kiss at the top, where the pinker skin just brushed against his collarbone, and made her way down to the edge of his waistband, her tongue daring to peek between her lips to taste his skin. The scar was the same feel, but softer.

“Okay I think I’ll stop you there, because you need to lose some clothing.”

His hand slide under her chin, lifting her head to look up at him, and she saw how he was breathing rather heavy, and she hadn’t even touched him, really.

He didn’t seem to agree.

Now that she wasn’t focused on his scar, getting back to her feet, she glanced down to see the obvious tenting in his pants.

“Oh.”

Was all she managed.

Petyr chuckled softly, and reached out to grasp her shoulders, fingers pressing almost through the fabric to her skin,

“You do know how to press all my buttons. Now it’s my turn.”  


He pulled her against him suddenly, kissing her with a sort of ferocity she didn’t expect, but instantly loved, all the while his hands went about undoing her blouse buttons and found her skirt zipper.

Without a word, he’d gotten rid of her clothes and left her in her matching emerald silk bra and panties.

He broke the kiss and took a long look at her, before asking,

“You picked those on purpose didn’t you?”

Sansa bit her lip,

“Well yes. I’ve had them since I could remember. The small bag I had was actually bigger on the inside. A suitcase purse of sorts.”

Petyr grinned, before reaching out to run a finger along one of the swells of her breasts,

“My clever Sansa…”

Before she could realize what he was planning, he’d scooped her up, one hand beneath each thigh, and tossed her on the bed, crawling over her and stealing another searing kiss.

Much as she loved it, loved him touching and kissing her, the position was far too reminiscent of less pleasant moments, so she pressed a hand to his chest, and he rolled over and off of her at once.

“Sorry.”

Sansa shook her head,

“It’s okay, but tonight, I’m gonna be on top.”

He didn’t look as if he wanted to argue, he simply laid back, and watched her work.

She tugged down and tossed away his sleep pants, and left him lying there, fairly aroused just by the sight of her as she was, not even undressed all the way.

She sat back on her heels, and undid her bra, slowly and tortuously as she could, before dropping it off the side of the bed, and she knew she was blushing as she looked at him staring at her bared breasts.

“So beautiful…I can’t believe how lucky I am.”

Sansa grinned,

“Did you drink some Felix Felicis this morning?”

Petyr shook his head,

“Not that I can recall.”

His hands landed on her hips, fingers dipping under the band of her underwear, and she shifted up, just slightly so he could tug it down, before she took over, and kicked it off and away.

“So…”

He cocked a brow at her,

“So?”

Sansa sighed,

“I’ve not had any sort of protection for a while. Outside Hogwarts, I’d have needed something additional…”

Petyr nodded, understanding at once.

“I’ll take care of it.”

He reached over, plucking his wand from the bedside table, and she couldn’t remember when he’d put it there, and waved it over them both, until a purplish glow covered them, and then dissipated.

“Now we’re good for the next twenty-four hours.”

Sansa shook her head,

“I still can’t believe they have spells for that. Muggles have to take elixirs and pills and some even have injections.”

Petyr chuckled,

“Well, that’s how it goes when you don’t have the wonderful thing we do.”

“Okay, no more talking.”

Sansa knew if she didn’t tell him such, he’d keep going on and on, even while they were most intimate. Much as she did like his seductive tones in her ear on past occasions, that night was meant to be something special.

And it was.

When she finally sank down upon him, it was like nothing she’d ever felt before. Only once before had they done it like that, with her merely sitting on his lap inside his office, making the desk chair squeak with every twist of her hips against him.

Now, he pushed up against her, his hands biting into her thighs, and she pressed her hands onto his chest, careful to avoid the scar, riding him for all it was worth, desperate to feel that white light of orgasm fill her every pore.

“Don’t think so hard sweetling.”

He murmured at one point, almost so quiet she thought she imagined it, but she didn’t.

She stopped trying to chase it, and relaxed enough to let him lead.

He didn’t pretend to try and outlast her, for once he reached down to press his fingers on her clit and rub against her outer lips, that was it, over gone and done, she’d forgotten how easy it was for him when she was like this atop him.

She gasped out his name, and she felt him pulsing inside her a few moments later his hand tightening enough to bruise on her thigh, while the other drew out her aftershocks as long as possible, just to the edge of painfully pleasurable.

He turned them over, and slid out of her carefully and slowly, but it still made her writhe slightly under his touch, and he kissed her forehead sweetly, before brushing her hair back from her face, watching her carefully, she knew, to make sure she was all right.

“It was wonderful.”

Her smile was shaky but true, and he couldn’t help but smile in reply.

“I think you’re the greatest gift I’ve ever gotten for Christmastide.”

Sansa frowned slightly,

“What?”

Petyr chuckled,

“You know it’s next week?”

Sansa couldn’t believe that, but time had moved very differently while she’d been out of Hogwarts.

“Happy Christmas Petyr.”

He hugged her close,

“And to you love.”

*

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> star wars will be done at some point i promise.
> 
> Also the whole scar scene was 100% inspired by compassion which is by far one of the hottest things I've ever read, even though it's a hard pg13 soft R so go check it out.


	8. Learning the Ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally the STAR WARS AU and i barely got it done before i let myself be distracted by other things.
> 
> also warning, very little plot very much corrupting the innocent smut   
> >:D
> 
>  
> 
> inspirations:  
> http://lukemara.tumblr.com/post/147096981098   
> (let it be known i didn't follow the prompt 100% and i also disapprove of the reylo hate in the tags)  
> http://pomegranate-and-mint.tumblr.com/post/147670478159 (that is 100% how i pictured Petyr here #bless)

“You must control your fear, your anger, channel them and use the power they give you against your enemies. Then and only then will you be unbeatable.”

Petyr had told her that before, several variations of such, but still she wrinkled her nose, and shook her head, red waves escaping somewhat from her perfect braids.

“That’s not the Jedi way. Jedi must be selfless…void of emotion.”

Petyr snorted, and circled her again, the cold air making his hair ruffle slightly, like smoke that didn’t vanish.

“Is that what your father told you? Look where that got him. Where it got your whole family. Killed as traitors. Don’t tell me you believe that with your heart. I can see right through you… I see _you_ and I know you feel, you’ve felt. You are not some black hole without any emotions. Try as you might.”

He smirked at her, and indeed, it did cause her some mild annoyance. She wasn’t angry, but she did dislike how he kept pressing her buttons, stirring her grief as if it was a pot of stew.

“Don’t do that. Don’t cheapen my loss. You aren’t cruel.”

Sansa straightened up and resumed her attempted meditation, trying to blot him out by shutting her eyes. But it wouldn’t work long. He never remained silent.

“I might not be cruel, but then again, you don’t know me. Just because I saved you from one cruel fate doesn’t mean your life with be bright stars and nebulas again. The Lannister’s will be sending bounty hunters for you, the last Stark. I have not taken a small risk by stealing you away. I hope you understand that.”

At his final words, she felt him stop pacing, and he was surely standing right in front of her, for she could feel his breath on her neck, and a hand had lifted, he was caressing the end of one crimson braid.

Sansa inhaled shakily, and fought with all her might to banish all senses and feelings from her, letting the Force wash over her.

She would prove him wrong, she would not give in to the Dark Side.

Not even to achieve revenge on her family’s killers.

*

Petyr was almost disappointed at how easy it turned out to be, shaping the girl, and carving her from the lithe and innocent creature of porcelain, almost like a classic doll, to a Dark Force-using steel nerve-laced warrior.

Oh sure, she’d tried to be remain a Jedi, tried to keep to her family’s long dead Coda, for her mere existence was proof that it wasn’t all as perfect as it seemed.

Jedi were never to love, to desire, to want, but the Starks had abandoned the Order to breed their disgustingly beautiful children and live the life of a peaceful lie.

She might have once tried to pretend she didn’t want revenge, didn’t want justice, but he could see it in her eyes, every day he pushed her a little further, a little past that middle ground, the line between Light and Dark, to shades of gray.

The fact that he had very great desires and wishes and wants and plans didn’t matter for the moment. All that there was, was her.

Infinite potential on a universal scale.

With his wits, skills and Sith past teachings and learning’s, and her beauty and raw talent, the galaxy would be theirs.

He could see it now, his dark empress on a throne made from fractured planets and shards of battleships, and he’d be her advisor. King of her heart.

Well, that would come later.

For now, he would watch her grow, watch her learn to embrace her darkness, and let the poisonous seed of vengeance work in her blood.

Daily trainings were plenty to keep her occupied, and as he whispered, little things, little lies, and slow prodding’s, when she thought he was merely talking aloud, he could see fractures in her psyche.

The light of the Force would change from the blinding white light of goodness to something sinister.

“Can you feel the power flowing through you?”

He asked her, lowering his voice so she had to strain, had to work to hear.

“Yes, it’s the Force. The light is helping me focus.”

“No!”

He couldn’t take the defiance much longer, but it was good. It meant she was resisting, and that was a victory in itself.

He drew his lightsaber and swung at her, stopping only inches from her neck,

“You cannot defeat me with your eyes closed.”

The scarlet beam sizzled and popped beside her skin, but not touching her. Only the heat would make an impression.

She inhaled what sounded like a shaky breath, and her eyes finally opened, pinning him with a stare, twin blue orbs almost as bright as the plasma of her own lightsaber.

“I will not give in to what you want.”

She lifted a hand, and without a word, or what seemed like a flicker of effort, flung him aside.

Or would have, had he not blocked her Force push, and he twirled his wrist, his index finger twitching only a bit.

She was pushed back herself, brought to her knees in the dark sand, and he knew she’d had the wind knocked from her.

The only reason she wasn’t on her back was from her speedy burst of power to catch herself.

“Ready to apologize sweetling?”

He came to stand before her, offering his hand for her to take, much as he enjoyed looking down at her from the position.

She winced, and refused to take his hand.

“Don’t call me that. I’m not your sweet-- anything. I’m your reluctant apprentice if that.”

The glare she leveled at him was almost laughable.

“All right. Get yourself up then.”

He dropped his hand, switched off his lightsaber and walked away from her.

His back was in no danger, for he could see her, watching her safely from the little corner of her mind he regularly visited.

The small village on the outskirts of the main city port was called…well quite frankly he didn’t care, but it housed them quite comfortably. Just another pair of refugees hiding from the Empire. On the run? Maybe. Rich? Quite.

Money ensured no one asked questions, and a wave of the hand was more than enough to derail any questions that did come.

Sansa still had yet to master that skill.

Living like peasants wasn’t his ideal choice. He wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t miss the sky kissing towers of permacrete and durasteel. He liked the instant sustenance in the kitchens, the instant hot water in the freshers, and well, instant access to whatever he wanted.

In the cold desert planet, water was a plentiful thing, but had to be pumped up from deep beneath the surface, and as such, was often quite cold.

The twin moons meant headaches and mood swings happened, causing fights amongst the drunkards in any cantina, and only the Force kept Petyr sane and able to sleep.

Sansa still had the occasional headache and would wake up suddenly to run to the fresher and empty the contents of her stomach.

It was rather like having one’s head thrown into a vice three times a week.

Petyr had tried to help her, tried to show her what to do, but she’d refused his help every time without fail. He wondered how much longer she would hold out.

Padding soft footsteps sounded, and she slipped inside the squat quarters, silent as the grave. He smirked to himself, still stirring at their makeshift dinner, powder to water bread, and protein infused noodles.

Not the healthiest, but one way to stay alive was to learn to live without luxuries.

He knew with money he could get whatever he wanted, and what she pretended she didn’t want or miss, but it might draw too much attention, more than he was willing to commit to paying off to keep secret.

“Hungry?”

He asked, not willing to yet meet her gaze, lest she still be pretending to be angry. Or was it pretending not to be angry?

He couldn’t be sure where she was falling on the Jedi to Grey to Sith scale.

Still very much in the middle, but closer day by day.

“I apologize for being impatient earlier. I just hate when you call me that.”

Petyr eyed her briefly, before noting her wringing hands and her shuffled feet.

“I accept. Now sit, eat. I know you were sick last night. You’re probably starving.”

She didn’t wince at that, but her cheeks flared to match her hair.

“I’m sorry.”

Petyr sighed,

“Don’t apologize for that…let me help you.”

He kept his voice soft, a level of soothing cadence.

One last push.

Sansa took the bowl, ate methodically and then when she had finished, nodded finally.

“Okay. I would be very grateful for you to do so.”

_Master_.

She would never address him as such. Even though she claimed to be his apprentice in name only, she would never grant him the true title he deserved. She was scared to do it. To form the word with her lips, her perfect, pink and rather delicious looking lips.

He blinked. He needed to be careful with that. Thinking of such things so close to her, she might inadvertently pick up on them.

She’d read into his mind once, very badly and very briefly while they were escaping Coruscant. She had claimed she needed to know she could trust him, so he’d allowed it.

But without her liking it or admitting it, her powers since then had grown, but just not enough in the right direction.

“Very well. Go get changed for sleep and meet me in my room. I will teach you.”

She hesitated only a moment, before nodding, and following through his commands, walking away from him to her room.

He rinsed her dish out and set it carelessly into the sink.

Finally the moment he’d been waiting for so many long and tired weeks.

She would be stepping right into his well laid plan.

He remained in his loose tunic and pants, but shed his gold gloves and sandy mantel that kept his neck warm when outside anytime after noon. The temperature dropped severely at night as well. But he had ensured the dwelling they resided in had an excellent climate control system.

No it wasn’t as perfect as his Coruscant penthouse, but it would do. It meant they didn’t have to resort to several dozen layers of insulation over their bedcovers.

He collapsed to the ground in the lotus position, and awaited her.

It didn’t take her long. She was clad in her pale green shift, red hair down in waves of liquid fire spilling down her shoulder, and she was barefoot.

“May I come in?”

Her voice was low, gentle almost.

Petyr smirked,

“Of course.”

He didn’t open his eyes yet, he wasn’t sure he had quenched the fire in them, and he didn’t wish to scare her off before they’d even begun.

“Where should I sit?”

She spoke again, even softer.

“Sit in front of me, ensure your knees are bracing mine. The contact will speed the process.”

“Okay.”

She did as bid, and he felt the slight brush of her exposed skin against his fabric clad body.

He had to leave every inch of him covered, at least as much as possible, for as she sat there, her shift rode up significantly, and though she tucked it around herself, her legs were completely bare.

Finally he couldn’t avoid her gaze any longer, and he opened his eyes to find her watching him, cautious, yet concerned.

“Something wrong?”

Sansa shook her head,

“No. I just wondered if you were awake for a moment.”

She giggled slightly, and he felt his heart clench. That was a magical sound.

She didn’t make it nearly often enough.

“I assure you I am perfectly alert. Take my hands, and open your mind to me.”

She closed her eyes, and frowned slightly in concentration.

Petyr laid his hands flat, palms up on his legs, and she reached out, linking their fingers when their hands touched, and he felt her inhale sharply.

Her mind was aswirl with questions, and just at the edge of it, he could almost taste her pain, like an ache, a pure bolt of sympathy shot through him and melted into her consciousness.

Her grief for her family was there too, buried amidst the many reasons why she _could not_ let herself feel it.

He plucked at it, like petals from a flower, and urged her to stop ignoring it.

She needed to stop pretending it was not there.

Feel.

Like a flipping of a switch, there was a rumbling of a virtual storm, dark clouds beginning to seep into the pure light of her consciousness.

Sansa outwardly gasped again, and her hands tightened on his.

“It’s all right. I’m here.”

He rumbled, leaning in slightly, just to see how close he could get, and he got a few millimeters from her face, close enough to smell the sweet flowery scent of the wash she used for her hair, before she spoke.

“What is happening? Why do I feel like this?”

Petyr smirked,

“What are you feeling?”

Sansa writhed and shifted,

“I feel like there’s something crawling beneath my skin, crying to get out. It’s not the sting of the moons, it’s something else.”

He couldn’t quite tell her what it would be like, facing the truth of her emotions for the first time, so he simply said,

“Don’t fight it. Hold onto it.”

Reject the light, embrace the dark.

That was what he couldn’t say. It would be far too obvious then and she might rebel in the wrong ways then but it would still be the right steps.

“I can’t.”

She breathed, and he saw how her face contorted, as if it was painful.

“I’ll make it better, I promise.”

He shoved forward with his mind, sending her a single wave, a fraction of the desire he felt for her, and instantly she loosened her grip, not quite dropping his hands, and her eyes snapped open.

“What is that?”

She sounded afraid, and that, _that_ was progress.

Petyr eyed her, drinking in her entire form once, twice, and then sliding his gaze back to her wide eyes.

“That is just a drink of what it means to truly use your power.”

Sansa was trying to shake her head, maybe hoping to free herself, wipe away the feelings currently attempting to eat her alive, from the inside out.

“No, no, I can’t, I shouldn’t let them…”

He cocked a brow,

“’Them?’ It’s just us sweetling.”

She gave a full body shiver at the word, but at least she didn’t instantly criticize him.

“No…I mean, I shouldn’t let myself channel those things.”

Sentiments, like fear, anger, passion, desire, or anything but selflessness.

Such a crime to be human.

Petyr stood at once, yanking her up to her feet with him, and she was too shocked to resist.

He was coloring his movements with the Force, so even if she tried to resist, it would be to no avail, unless she voiced true denial.

“Yes! You should… you will be the most powerful of any of them if you let yourself.”

She stared at him, only speechless for a few moments before he sought to show her, to prove to her _why_ it mattered.

He tugged her forward, and she crashed into his chest as his lips met hers in a fierce and likely bruising kiss.

Dropping her hands, he encircled her waist with his arms, locking her in place, and he could taste the cool mint of her night rinse on the edge of her mouth.

She let out a sound, breaking the kiss, and he realized it was a whimper.

“Petyr…what are you doing?”

She’d never said his name since he’d taken her.

It was the sweetest thing she could have ever done.

They’d only just begun.

*

Sansa was almost frozen, entrapped in his arms, and she was burning from the inside out.

The way he looked at her, as if she’d hung the stars and the twin moons, it was unnerving. She felt as if her mind was running a thousand parsecs a minute and the feeling was overwhelming.

But she didn’t want him to stop.

She should. She knew that it was wrong. The darkness curling its way on the edge of her vision was enough proof of that.

But she’d never felt so alive since the day she’d been confronted with so much death.

“It’s called an expression of passion. What do you know of it?”

Well now, much more than she had before.

The Sith knew of Passion.

It was part of their Coda.

They used it, wore it on their sleeves.

Jedi did not.

Only compassion for others could they experience.

Petyr began to kiss along her jaw, and down her neck, it was as if he was lighting her very skin afire with every single touch of his lips.

“I don’t…but I want to.”

She could feel his smile on her skin.

“I will be glad to teach you of that as well.”

He reached the spot where her neck met her shoulders, and bit her. Just enough to make her jump, and his tongue, hot and wet and wicked was then licking over it.

“Please.”

She didn’t know what she was asking for, but she sensed he would know how to help her.

“There’s something missing from that…”

She blinked, and it came to her.

The word.

The thing she knew he’d wanted.

For so long.

It was fair.

He deserved it.

He was her teacher. He instructed her.

“ _Master._ ”

His chuckle was low and seemed to vibrate through her entire body, making every inch tingle.

“Yes sweetling? What is your desire?”

Sansa gulped,

“You. Show me. Everything.”

Petyr hummed,

“Do you know what you’re really asking for?”

Sansa shook her head,

“I only know you can lead me.”

His hand stroked over her face, and his thumb brushed the apple of her cheek before he answered.

“Take off your shift.”

Like a fever, but all over, that was how it felt with his eyes on her as she did what he commanded. The light green fabric went up and over her head and away, and she was bared to his gaze.

Her hands went to the bottom of his tunic as well but his own encircled her wrists, halting the movement.

“Wait…”

She frowned,

“What is it? You have me, all of me. It is only fair…”

Petyr’s mouth twisted into something not quite a smirk or a smile.

“That may be, but I am not as young and unmarred as you. I need more time, to grow comfortable. But surely you must be cold, come.”

He dragged her gently over to his bed, where he collapsed against the sheets, pulling her with him, so that she lay atop him, naked skin atop rough fabric.

He braced a hand on the side of her neck, and then she leaned in, eyes closing as he kissed her again.

There was an insistent sort of feeling in her mind, as if someone was knocking on a door she hadn’t even known she had. The wellspring of desire that bloomed inside of, stoked like a fire from his touch.

“Yes.”

She told the air, as she obeyed him, following.

She writhed atop him, and her hands began tracing over his arms, down his wrists, to his waist, plucking at the seam of his tunic and the band of his trousers.

She could feel his thighs flexing against her, holding her up, and there was something else, something hard poking against her inner thigh, bare next to the cotton covering him still.

“What?”

Petyr’s eyes opened lazily, and he was smiling there before his mouth curved,

“That’s just what you do to me. Nothing to worry about right now.”

Sansa felt her cheeks flare with heat.

She moved against it, and him, and his face changed, and a groan was ripped from his throat, as if against his own will.

“I’m doing that…to you?”

Her fingers just barely slipped under the top of his pants, and he seemed to jump in surprise as her hand made contact with his flesh below his navel.

“I believe so, very much. Are you trying to undress me?”

He grinned, and she blushed more fiercely.

“I don’t really know what I’m doing, but if it feels good for you…tell me.”

Petyr chuckled somewhat raspily, a hand rising to stroke her cheek, his eyes wandering from her face down to a bare breast,

“I don’t need to speak a word to show you.”

His palm cupped her face, and within seconds she was overwhelmed by a press of his mind against hers, pleasure, and lust spiking her body temperature, sending sparks of pure heat straight between her legs, and she gasped aloud from the sensation.

He wasn’t touching her there, but oh, she _needed_ him to.

“I want…”

She couldn’t quite name it, but when she brushed a hand lower, grazing the hard shape in his pants and he bucked up into her hand, she sensed he got what she was trying to say.

His other hand stopped slowly caressing her bare hip and slipped between her legs, teasing and barely touching below her pubic hair, she froze, overwhelmed again.

He pulled her back down for another kiss, and moved his hand to draw two fingers against her slit, and he groaned into her mouth at the feel, finding her soaking wet, and surely hot, for his skin was cool against hers.

“Oh…that feels…”

Again the words escaped her.

Pure white light was enveloping her mind, though surely this sort of madness was all from the dark side? Jedi couldn’t feel things like this.

Petyr drew his lips from her mouth, down her neck and to bite at her collarbone, and she squeaked in shock.

“It’s merely the most human thing to be done. Now you can touch me, if you like.”

His hand was still playing between her legs, now his thumb was rubbing in slow almost painfully teasing circles over that forbidden spot that would surely make her scream.

Her hips were jerking against him, seeking further friction and she barely comprehended what he’d said.

“Okay.”

She managed to gasp out, plunging her hand further into his pants, grasping directly for the hardness she could feel. It fit into her hand, rather like her lightsaber handle, and yet was soft, so soft like silk, but hot, and she imagined it would be heavy if he wasn’t lying down, or if it was on her tongue.

“Oh fuck. You shouldn’t think things like that sweetling. You’ll kill a man with those sorts of ideas.”

Sansa blinked down at him in surprise,

“Are you in my head still? That’s rude.”

Petyr cocked a brow at her,

“Are you really telling me off, while you’ve got your hands down my pants and I’ve a hand inside you?”

He was exaggerating, slightly. He only had two fingers inside of her, while his thumb still teased her outer nub, but he had a point.

“When are you going to take your clothes off?”

She finally asked, somewhat breathless, as she swore she could taste the edge of something, indefinably incredible coming.

Petyr immediately stopped his hand, gently pulled back, and spun them so she flipped over onto the middle of the bed, and he was now looming over her.

“All you had to do was ask.”

He sat up and tugged off his shirt, and tossed it aside, revealing a massive scar bisecting his chest, and Sansa was speechless as she stared.

She barely realized she needed to blink as her eyes began to burn, and when she refocused on him, he’d already gotten rid of his pants and was moving back onto the bed, onto her.

“What happened?”

She asked, her voice falling to a harsh whisper, and she couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to touch it, carefully, slowly.

Her hands made contact with the topmost portion, for it kissed from his collarbone to the left of his navel, just before his hipbone, and it was an angry twisted pink, where the rest of his skin tone was pale like her own.

Petyr’s mouth curved, and he seemed to only speak out of one side,

“It was a lightsaber fight that I foolishly thought I could win. I lost, and nearly lost my life, but your mother actually vouched for me, saved me. It’s why I’m indebted, why I had to save you.”

Somewhat of a mood destroyer, she knew, but she hadn’t been able to refrain from asking. As she touched him, gently dragging her fingertips over the scar, from the beginning to where it tapered off, she then moved her hand back to touch his still hard,

“Cock.” He supplied helpfully, his eyes now smiling along with his mouth.

Sansa knew her face was hot again.

“Sorry. I’ve never done anything like this before, never even knew what created me…isn’t that pathetic?”

She glanced away from him, embarrassed for him to see how ignorant she was, how empty her mind was of such things. Emotions and things like love and family were abandoned and all but forgotten when one became a Jedi, for one left attachments behind the moment they stepped inside the Temple.

“Not at all sweetling. I am here to teach you anything you want to learn. This is an important thing to know. The art of seduction, and the act of deriving sexual pleasure are necessary skills.”

Sansa frowned slightly, and then looked back to him,

“Is that what this is? Just another classroom exercise?”

Petyr chuckled,

“Not at all. I would never have dreamed this would happen, like this, but I certainly have not had an apprentice like this, ever before.”

Sansa licked her lips, and then looked back to him, as he leaned up off of her, one arm bracing his weight and the other moving back down between her legs, effectively killing her logical train of thought.

“So I’m your first as much as you are mine?”

Petyr blinked, before nodding.

“Indeed.”

Another kiss began, and Sansa’s eyes slowly began to close, and she let the sensations drown her again, while his connection with her mind fed the pleasure back again twofold and amped her arousal back up, bringing her to the brink in seconds.

It was almost over with in a flash, but for how he lingered in her mind, his fingers drawing out her climax physically and fingers in her mind pulling the virtual strings.

Her lips parted as she gasped, and he plunged his tongue between them, kissing her deeper as his touch echoed the movement.

He moved against her, grinding his hips into her parted legs and she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, fingers bracing against his neck, and she broke the kiss only to scream when she could handle it no more. Pleasure bled into pain, and it was too much, too intense.

*

Petyr found himself losing his own perfectly crafted control when she said that.

He suspected that of course, yes, he’d be her first, as she was the epitome of perfection of a Jedi, the purest and most innocent of creatures.

But she would be _his_ , and in more ways than one.

Her beautiful orgasm pulled him over into his own, almost without effort, and he came, rutting into her hips, spilling over onto her stomach, and he wanted to pray she wouldn’t notice, but then again, if she did, would it matter?

She didn’t know what had really happened, but surely she had loved it.

He would endeavor to make sure she felt it as many times as he was able.

“Petyr...”

Her voice was soft, much like the feel of her skin beneath his hands, and he smirked,

“Yes?”

“That was…beyond exhilarating. I doubt I’ve ever felt something so wondrous.”

Petyr couldn’t hold back a chuckle,

“Of course not. I’m delighted to be able to bring such feelings to you.”

“But it was more than that, like I could feel everything, and what you did too. How?”

Petyr stroked a hand against her cheek, and her eyes opened slowly.

“It was through the Force. A temporary bond.”

Sansa bit her lip and looked away from him for a moment before back again, the crystal blue of her eyes almost deep enough to drown in,

“Could it ever be permanent? Is there such a thing between Sith?”

He sensed what she was asking in a roundabout manner. It pained him somewhat, but he couldn’t yet allow her to be his weakness completely.

“No. With Jedi, attachment is forbidden, with Sith, it is discouraged. It cannot be deemed useful unless proven otherwise.”

Sansa nodded,

“Okay. I understand. What will we do next?”

Remarkable how easily her young mind moved on, whilst even his thoughts still lingered on the idea of a bond with her throughout the foreseeable future.

“What do you propose sweetling?”

Sansa’s cheeks flushed bright pink,

“Besides getting cleaned up, I’m not sure what to do.”

Petyr reached out with his free hand, Force pulling a cloth from the nearest cabinet inside the fresher, and he carefully wiped her stomach off, before tossing it aside.

“There. Now, whatever would you like? More kisses? Another of the wondrous delights?”

He kissed her on the side of her neck, and he knew it would be very distracting to her, so when she spoke again, he was almost surprised.

“I think I’d like you to kiss me all the way to another yes, can you do that?”

Petyr ran a hand from her shoulder down past the curve of her breast and the dip of her stomach, pausing just before the cleft of her legs,

“Kiss you here?”

She was still blushing, but she nodded.

“Oh it would be my utmost pleasure to do so.”

He grinned at her, kissing her once on the mouth, before beginning to follow where his hand had touched, with his mouth.

*

The next morning, Sansa awoke in his bed still, in his arms, even in sleep. Her head no longer ached from the moon sickness, but different places of her body did, between her legs, and any place he’d bitten and kiss on her neck, shoulders and even her breasts.

She knew she should have felt something like shame, regret, or sadness at failing the Jedi way, falling from the path, but she didn’t.

Instead she embraced all that she felt, good bad or ugly. The mere sensation of it all opened her mind up to more of the Force than she’d ever known. She turned her mind towards Petyr, to his own mind, and she stepped up and knocked on the door of his subconscious, finding it ajar, somewhat, so she was in his dreams.

She watched as he noticed her presence, and he smirked, as usual, before she found herself pinned down against the mattress, Petyr now awake himself and looking down at her with something like pride in his eyes.

“Clever girl. How far did you think I’d let you go?”

Sansa laughed a bit nervously,

“Not sure. I was just looking.”

Petyr hummed and then leaned down to graze his lips over one of the marks on her neck,

“Next time be more subtle. Don’t catch my eye.”

“Too late for that I think.”

She could feel his smile against her skin,

“You’d be right about that.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> petyr's got a thing for being called Master, in pretty much any AU i'm thinking...


	9. Darkest Before  (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haiiii guys i've decided to full on spiral into the deepest sinbin with this AU. it's not quite as graphic, in some bits, as the original work, and it's going to require a slim bit of disbelief, but i think it can be argued, well, that Clarice had a bit of a fascination for Hannibal as much as Sansa does for Petyr.  
> in this case, i'm merely pushing the boundaries for that, and its going to be more or less leading to them becoming more than platonic, 'brush of the hand' sorts.  
> if thats a problem, i won't be offended for you leaving. if you leave rude comments, i won't eat you, obviously, but i will delete them. please only read if you think you will like my vision.  
> xoxo bless.
> 
>  
> 
> p.s. it should be obvious the age gap is more or less not as much of a big deal, ie Sansa is 27-30ish, and Petyr is well, his rogue charming self. (think late 30's early 40's)

From what she knew of the man, of the criminal, the former doctor, or well known psychiatrist, he was a cultured and unassuming sort of person, the kind one wouldn’t notice passing on the street. That was until his wife, or ex-wife did something so horrible it garnered his full attention, leading to her death, in a rather brutal and hideous manner.

He’d strangled her and then vivisected her body, to finish it all off, when the police had arrived, they said the dwelling didn’t smell of death and blood, but rather like a steakhouse.

All of it was enough to make even a newly christened FBI agent like Sansa Stark shiver in disgust. The idea that someone could do such a thing, and not even try to hide from it, or run away. He’d allowed himself to be caught, and what’s more, on minimal prompting and with vague sorts of stories, semi-confessed to other some such killings, that had been blamed on a serial killer from another side of the country.

But, she’d been informed, time and time again, and even that morning as she’d left for the prison housing the cannibal killer, her boss had reminded her not to let him get to her. Not to display any weakness, and ignore any and all personal questions.

Sansa fought the urge to roll her eyes at the former. Because she was a woman, and among the first in her position, naturally she would be thought of as a potential hazard.

It was more than a little annoying. It was the twenty-first century, not feudal England was it not?

Walking down the hall of fellow prisoners, Sansa kept her head high, and her eyes glued forward. She knew enough about what sorts were housed there besides who she’d come to see. They were the worst of the worst, and even the guard had looked at her with sympathy.

It wouldn’t be a long trip. Her boss, Jamie, had told her that if the man didn’t seem like he would cooperate, then she could leave. Her questions were short and to the point, and any such ramblings or usual displays of equivocatedness that he liked to display meant the meeting would end.

The only reason the FBI was desperate enough to consult with such a criminal?

Money.

Well, and power.

The latest victim in a series of missing persons, likely concluded to be the same M.O. as each other, was the son of an up and coming politician in Washington, whose mother just so happened to be the sister of the head of the FBI.

Yeah.

So as it happened, Sansa was on a mission, a hail Mary, last ditch effort, because there was a personal investment in the case now, and it was a bit disconcerting that something of that nature had to happen to really catch the agency’s eye, but it was what it was. She was to interview the man, to help aid a psycho behavioral profile being thrown together. He was the last piece of the puzzle.

No one cared when a few random people went missing, but when it was the golden child of one of the future presidential hopefuls, heads turned.

*

Petyr took in his usual paper, and did the crossword as best he could, in his head, for with no pens or pencils, he had no real way of filling it out.

They’d told him at roll call he’d be having an important visitor that day, and it was a nugget of information he’d absorbed, and pretended not to care about. The truth was, he suspected quite well who it might be.

A certain latest victim’s well to do family member in high places perhaps?

The serial killer the paper’s had taken to calling Vicious Victor, due to the way he would discard his prey. Always drained of blood, with clear marks on their neck, creative, and other wounds to suggest some form of paralytic before death.

The police had no leads, going by the rumors and the vague platitudes given in interviews, and they were growing antsy.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway, and Petyr’s back instantly straightened.

Too light to be a man’s, and too confident to be a guard.

It had to be his guest.

But it wasn’t who he had guessed.

A woman, girl really, came into view, tall, lithe, with a crisp navy blazer and sharp black skirt, and a sage green blouse to finish it off, flaming bright hair the same shade as a fresh pool of blood, and eyes so cold they might have been minute spheres of ice.

Oh, she would be fun.

She spotted him mere seconds after he’d finished drinking her in, and placed his face into as neutral a position he could achieve, and her own face tightened.

“Good morning.”

He spoke calmly and softly as he could, as if addressing a trapped and frightened animal. It put her on edge, he could see.

“Doctor Baelish I presume? My name is Sansa. May I have a moment of your time?

Petyr couldn’t resist breaking into a smirk, he hadn’t been called that, unironically, in years.

“Correct. And you’re here to…Oh wait, let me guess. The FBI’s newest recruited best and brightest, sent in Agent Lannisters stead, because he couldn’t bear to face me. Couldn’t bear to admit how he needs my help. But then again…may I see your credentials?”

It was merely a test, but he was eager to see how she would react. Of course it would take more than that to really get under her skin, and what a beautiful pale creamy delight it was.

Like a fresh canvas, just waiting for color to bloom across it.

He locked eyes with her, and was secretly thrilled when she didn’t back down, or even flinch away.

“Of course.”

The girl, Sansa, moved a step closer, still a perfectly safe distance away, and held up her badge,

“That looks good enough for a halloween costume.”

Another dig.

She didn’t even seem fazed.

“It’s brand new, like me.”

Well, she certainly had his attention, but now he was intrigued. Did the FBI really think they could wheedle him with a pretty face and an empty promise of a lighter sentence?

No.

But her name still lingered in the back of his mind, refusing to be ignored. Stark, Stark…where had he heard that before?

There weren’t many with that sort of old fashioned last name.

“Your boss thinks he’s going to get me to help you. Well, I’m not very inclined. So you might as well turn that pretty face of yours around, and go back the way you came.”

He smiled, somewhat the illusion of politeness, but she wasn’t backing down.

“That’s all well and good, but the fact of the matter is, I think you’ll want to listen to what I have to say. It might even help with your current lot.”

“I highly doubt that sweetheart. But go ahead. Give it your best shot.”

 _Tha_ t got to her.

She gave an almost huff of impatience.

Noted: nicknames did not please her.

She tried again,

“Doctor, we have been having a hard problem with our psychological profiling. I want to ask for your help with a questionnaire.”

He brought his hand to his mouth, tracing the edge of his bottom lip, and he watched as she dropped her gaze to the folder she was now clutching rather like a lifejacket, fumbling with the papers inside, before passing him a cluster through the proper drawer for such things. She was clever so far.

“Thank you.”

They held the exact sort of information he could have guessed. It was almost like some sort of personality quiz.

How ridiculous.

He lifted his gaze back to her, his one hand clasping the papers, while the other remained on his lips, now just his index finger, tracing the bottom one, and he saw her eyes flicker to the movement for a split second.

He bit his cheek to keep from smiling.

She hadn’t said anything about him yet, and why would she pay him any sort of compliment, but he could tell, she was surprised at his appearance.

She’d clearly been imagining some sort of maniac or monster when she’d read all about him in her classes.

Well, surprise. The devil is harmless and innocent in form as him.

*

Sansa wasn’t sure if he was actually reading the papers she’d given him or just pretending to, to annoy her.

She’d been told about his tricks, his little games he liked to play, he knew all the dodges, as Jamie had said.

“You’re wearing old spice as a perfume. How unusual, but not unappealing.”

Sansa had to bit her tongue to keep from explaining why she did, why she chose it instead of the normal sort of flowery things women wore. But the fact that he’d picked up on her scent from such a generous distance was unnerving.

“Thank you.”

She wondered if that had been the wrong thing to say, as the Doctor brought his hand away from his mouth and began to flip through the pages in earnest, so fast she knew he was only skimming them, unless he had a secret talent for speed reading she hadn’t been informed of.

“Doctor Baelish, if you’d please consider-“

He interrupted her almost instantly, but with a soft polite sort of cut,

“No…no…no. You were doing fine. You’d been so courteous and professional, responded as such, and now this obtuse seg-way into the little form. We can’t have that.”

Sansa bristled, she couldn’t help herself. He’d seen it, so it was too late to cover. She licked her lips impatiently, fighting away the dry mouth of her anxiety, and tried again,

“I just want you to look at the questions. Either you will, or you won’t. And you’ll be proven right, as will my director.”

She cocked a brow at him, and saw something flash in his grey green eyes. She’d got him there. His enormous pride wouldn’t let that happen.

“Very well my dear. I’ll answer your questions…if you tell me something about yourself. Tell me, why did you decide to join the FBI? Was it so you could pretend you didn’t come from a family of all boys save for one? So you could prove your worth to the world, be something more than just another silly hen raising her little chicks?”

Every word he said was like a minuscule dagger in her skin. But she didn’t let herself flinch.

Wouldn’t give him a single ounce of leverage.

Her smile just remained, but hardened into plastic.

“Well, it seems you already know everything important about me, so I think it’s your turn to answer questions.”

Her hand simply tightened on her pen against her notebook and finally, after a long and frankly uncomfortable amount of silence, he began to speak.

*

Leaving the cell holding Dr. Baelish hadn’t been difficult, but it had been rather alarming in its strange-ness. As if being plunged into ice water from a day in the sun.

He’d mainly talked in circles, gone over the same answer a couple times til she’d called him out on it, and he’d given her a smirk that almost looked sincere.

Once his eagle eyes were no longer on her, she felt as if she could breath properly again. He was haunting in his fascination.

He was also extremely intimidatingly handsome. That hadn’t been in the briefing, there hadn’t even been a photograph of him besides his mugshot, in black and white, and highly contrasting.

Grey marred the sides of his temples, and his hair was limp overall from poor prison cleaning standards, but she could see how he’d been the charming doctor who probably had crushed many a patient’s heart.

Lord, what was she thinking?

She couldn’t find him attractive…he was a wicked person. He’d deserved the death penalty, but for the luck of the state he’d been arrested in.

They’d outlawed it over a decade prior.

Now that she thought about it, he’d probably planned it that way.

She found herself shivering as she made her way out to the parking lot, and she was grateful the sun was still out. Being around him surrounded by darkness would be just too much for her to handle she decided.

A week later, she found herself in Jamie’s office, wringing her hands together, waiting quietly while he finished reading her memo.

“You’re sure you’ve left nothing out?”

Sansa blinked once, twice, and three times, before nodding.

“Of course sir, it’s all there.”

Director Lannister pursed his lips, and ruffled the papers again, lining them back up before setting them aside on his desk.

“Every word, every gesture?”

Sansa huffed out a sigh, decidedly annoyed he was giving her such attitude,

“Right down to the way he named my reluctant perfume.”

Jamie hummed,

“He mentions a name at the very end…Oakelmto. Any followup on that?”

Sansa shrugged,

“I spent all night, every night this week on the mainframe. Baelish either altered or destroyed most of his patient histories, prior to his capture. No record of anyone named Oakelmto. But the ‘Red Door’ sounded like a bar, or a club. When I tracked it down in the library’s catalogue of national yellow pages,” She paused, more for effect than anything else, and Jamie nodded encouragingly, “It’s a storage facility outside the city where Baelish had his practice.”

She waited again, hoping some sort of approval or astonishment at her clever deducting skills in having been put into action.

Director Lannister merely blinked,

“Why aren’t you there right now?”

Sansa balked. Her hands began to clutch at themselves again,

“Sir, that’s a field job. It’s outside my assignment.”

Her director shrugged,

“My instructions to you, besides how to avoid Baelish’s mind games, were what?”

Sansa felt confused and surely it was all over her face,

“To complete and file my report by Friday, end of business. But Sir,-“

“Well, I’m extending the deadline. Next Wednesday. Go keep doing what you know you should be doing.”

Sansa nodded, then, before pausing just still inside his doorway,

“What is it you’re not telling me?”

Jamie looked as if he wanted to say something, but then shook his head, evidently thinking better of it. Her gut seemed to twist inside of her.

“Nothing Stark. Have a good rest of your Friday evening.”

“Thanks.”

Her mind was swirling with questions the entire drive home.

Now she had a project for the weekend at least, so there was no excuse to mope around her apartment, her cats would be thrilled.

*

His usual Saturday night date was merely a boring droning on television, but tonight, he was truly blessed. A rain soaked angel had dropped from heaven itself, or just the FBI to come entertain him.

“Doctor…It’s an anagram, isn’t it?”

Petyr glanced away from the TV which he’d been pretending to watch, for her sake, to stare at her, determined to make her blink, flinch, or in any way react to him first. She couldn’t even see him properly, as he was in the corner, hidden in shadow as much as possible, so he took his fill of her, noting how her hair soaked into her blouse, which was a pale shade of yellow, revealing darker fabric beneath. Her bra most likely. She wouldn’t go without it around him.

He smiled slowly.

“Oakelmto, it’s not a last name, or even a first…’Look at me,’ meaning, look at what you left for us to find in that rent-a-storage place.”

He kept silent still, allowing her to dominate the conversation.

“You put those…things in there. Paid for it in advance, ten years ago…why Doctor Baelish?”

Her use of his last name jolted him out of the darkness, and he got up swiftly, pressing his tray into the food drawer, pushing it towards her.

She jumped visibly, startled by his sudden movement and she looked almost afraid as she glanced at the drawer.

It was just a clean white and folded towel.

She was still dripping onto the floor outside his cell.

Surely she was cold too.

His eyes dropped to her chest, but she was taking the towel, pressing it to her face, smiling almost sweetly, and his view was hindered.

“Thank you.”

It was a kindness he’d be glad to give her a thousand times over. She was a pure delight.

She took a seat in the chair provided opposite his bunk, and moved to rub at her hair, though the small towel wouldn’t do much good there.

“Your bleeding has stopped.”

He could smell it, despite the fresh rain nearly overpowering her general scent and the biting musk of her adapted perfume.

He saw her eyes widen,

“How did-? It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”

She was getting good.

Petyr crossed his arms, and simply stared at her, resisting the temptation to keep eyeing her and continue memorizing every inch of her body.

“Why don’t you ask me about Victor?”

Sansa blinked, surprise evident on her face despite the fact she tried to temper it,

“Why? Do you know something about him?”

Petyr smirked, licking his lips slowly before speaking again. She watched him now.

“I might…if I could see his case file. You could get that for me.”

Sansa spit back her reply so fast he was almost impressed at her misdirection.

“Why don’t you tell me about the occupant of the Red Door? You obviously wanted me to find him. Or should I just wait for the lab results?”

Petyr set his jaw, almost tempted to roll his eyes at her, instead, he merely sighed,

“His name was William Graham. A former patient of mine whose lifestyle choices ran to, well, let’s just say he wasn’t a social butterfly. I didn’t kill him, I merely tucked him away. Very much as I’d found him, in his own garage, in his car. He’d missed three appointments you see, very rude of him. He’d be found under ‘missing person’ – which in poor Will’s case, could hardly be truer.”

Sansa had done very well keeping her face in a semi-calm state, pretending she wasn’t mulling over what he’d told her. It only made him want to know more about her, the deepest darkest sorts of secrets she wouldn’t even grant at confession, not that she went to church, it was obvious with her coming to him so late on a night when she could have been socializing. Since she wasn’t and it was more than clear she was a workaholic, that left no time for religion.

Good. He preferred her that way. Filled with sin.

He smirked as she formed a response.

“If you didn’t kill him, who did?”

Petyr shrugged,

“Who can say? Best thing for him really. Our sessions were going nowhere.”

Sansa blinked,

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to leave him for the police to find?”

Petyr snorted out a laugh,

“And have them clomping about in my life? Oh dear, no…at that time I still had certain private amusements of my own.” He paused for a moment, letting her hang on that space, “How did you feel when you saw him, Sansa? May I call you Sansa?”

To his utter amusement, she didn’t even comment, she simply answered honestly.

“Scared, at first. Then…exhilarated.”

Something crawling under his skin sparked, and he leaned forward, closer to the bars, and her by default, and she didn’t retreat.

“Ahhh, and why is that?”

Sansa licked her lips, and tried to shrug it off,

“I don’t know…I guess because I knew you weren’t wasting my time.”

Petyr hummed, low in his throat, and brought his hands together in front of his chest, fingers snarling in a twist that caught even Sansa’s eye,

“Do you have something you use, when you need courage? A memory…scenes from your early life?”

Sansa shrugged, and just like that, he felt the moment shattering, but still lingering in bits and pieces.

“I don’t remember. Next time I’ll have to check.”

Petyr felt the need to retaliate, so he did, he began the question innocently enough.

“Jamie Lannister is helping your career, isn’t he? Apparently he likes you, and you like him too.”

He eyed her carefully, and it was evident that yes, oh yes, she had a little torch for the man, even if she didn’t know it. Plenty of women had lost their hearts to the golden lion, but he had eyes truly only for one.

“I never thought about it.” She was looking down at her nails, away from him, and he grinned.

“Your first lie to me Sansa. How sad. Tell me, do you think Jamie wants you, sexually? True, he’s a little older, but do you think he visualizes…scenarios, positions…fucking you?”

He didn’t of course, but Petyr did.

Quite often.

Sansa, for her part, remained strikingly composed, but there was a hint of color in her cheeks, despite her best efforts,

“That sort of thing doesn’t interest me, Doctor.”

Petyr could have laughed aloud. Another lie.

She wasn’t very good at that.

“Surely the odd series of events hasn’t escaped you Sansa. Lannister dangles you before me…I give you a bit of help…Do you think it’s because I like to look at you, and imagine how good you would taste…?”

That was his first lie, of sorts. Pretending he didn’t plan for the day, the very hour and second he’d be out of these four walls and go to her side.

Sansa remained extraordinarily stoic, and didn’t even fidget with the white towel, now soaked in turn from the rainwater, and no doubt would smell of her skin until it dried.

“I don’t know. Is it?”

Petyr sighed again,

“Doesn’t this all begin to suggest a kind of, negotiation? A power play, with Lannister and I? There’s something I want that he can give me, and I’m willing to trade for it. I even wrote to him, offered my help. But he despises me, so he won’t deal with me directly.”

He got to his feet again, from where he’d been slouching atop his bunk, all he had left, besides the towel which he’d swiped earlier in the day. He spread his hands wide now, and let her see the destruction, or lack thereof he’d wrought.

“They’re trying to make me on edge. They’ve taken my books, my drawings, everything. When you leave, they’ll turn up the radio, classical, their idea of torture. Don’t tell them, I was raised on it.”

His voice fell below a whisper, as he locked eyes on her.

She almost looked intrigued,

“Who killed Graham? You know…don’t you?”

Petyr reached out, grasping the bars in front of him, and she didn’t retreat, though she was dangerously close, having stood herself to try and keep eye level with him.

“I’ve been in this room for seven years Sansa. I know they will never, ever, let me out while I’m alive. What I want is a view. I want a window where I can see a tree, or even water.” His gaze flickered down from her eyes to trace the path a single droplet of water took, kissing its way from her jaw to her neck to her clavicle. He fought the urge to lick his lips. How he would have died to be that raindrop.

Instead, he continued his mildly impassioned plea, or so she would think.

“I want a view. I will give good value for it. Lannister could do that for me, but he won’t. _You’ll_ persuade him.”

Sansa swallowed, he saw the move of every delicate muscle, and his hands tightened on the bars, but she didn’t notice. She spoke, her voice barely above a whisper,

“Who killed your patient?”

Petyr smirked, tilting his head just so, and dragging his eyes up again to her own,

“Oh, a very naughty boy. Someone you and Jamie Lannister are most eager to meet.”

Sansa’s jaw dropped,

“Vicious Victor? He killed him...all those years ago? That’s impossible…”

Petyr backed off, away and turned to face the bare wall, where once a drawing of a river with a weeping willow caressing it had hung.

“Who is he stalking right now Sansa? I wonder…how many more have to die until you trade with me…?”

He knew perfectly well, and so did she. The situation was already desperate, and he’d given her the push, it was now up to her to act.

*

Besides the adventure out to fingerprint the body that turned up, another one of Victor’s, Sansa had a mostly uneventful week. She’d gotten Jamie the report bright and early Monday morning, well, the sun was bright, and her clock alarm had been early, she however was not.

She’d barely gotten to sleep late Saturday night when she’d gotten home from seeing Baelish, and even all day Sunday she’d relaxed and stayed in, yet her mind had never really let her rest.

She just kept running over his words, and how he’d almost accused her of wanting an affair with Jamie. She’d have to be a grade A idiot to even consider such a thing, and besides, he was clearly involved with someone already, as he never hit on her, never got even close to such a thing, and his eyes were never less than professional laser beams.

Baelish on the other hand… well her skin hadn’t overheated or been in danger of such considering her clothes had been still quite wet and cold, but the way he’d talked at her, looked positively like he was seeing her bare to nearly the quick, she’d not soon forget that.

It was a good thing she needed him as she did, or she feared she’d never have the strength to face him again, not after he’d used such…crude terms. He’d basically suggested that he’d considered what it would be like to fuck her, kill her and then eat her.

Unless he’d been suggesting a different sort of tasting altogether…

It was all just part of the mind games he played she supposed, just trying to get inside her…brain, and put her on edge, keep her on guard.

It was working…surprisingly well she had to admit to herself. When she did find fitful moments of sleep on Sunday, it had been peppered by jarring sorts of dream sequences.

Like flash cuts of old film strips, she’d seen herself as herself, wearing all sorts of ridiculous frilly dresses. Visiting court, like out of some knights-of-the-round table tale, but then again, she had turned on the history channel to try and bore herself to sleep…that had been a mistake.

Instead of casting him as he should have been, a villain of the mustache twirling variety, Baelish had come to her like a knight in shining armor, rescuing her from the dance that she had been standing stock still as if frozen inside of.

As such, Sansa had woken in a cold sweat, not from fear of any one thing in her dream, but fear from her own unconscious mind.

Cursing it, she had tried to go back to sleep, willing herself not to dwell on how that dream had ended, and instead, she was granted the exact opposite. Like it never usually did, her dream continued.

It got progressively worse.

She knew the next time she saw Baelish, she would need to be very careful not to reveal anything. He had his ways of digging, pressing and pushing her to where she nearly did. It might have been something completely innocuous, like her perfume that wasn’t actually for women, or how her shoes had been cheap looking, granted they were from a second hand store, but still. How he had known from simply looking, while most men didn’t even catch the fact she’d put lipstick on, told her all she needed to know. He was observant, and mortally so.

She’d confronted Jamie, or tried to, about how he’d ignored her findings, how he was still waiting on the lab, as he said. But he had left something out. The pure and simple fact that he’d _used_ her. He’d played her like a pawn on a chessboard. He regretted it, she could tell, but that didn’t excuse his behavior.

She didn’t tell him that Baelish had nearly gotten to her, the last few seconds outside of his cell, how close she’d let him physically get, and how he’d just let her go, retreated with a minimal fight, barring his request, his order to her.

Jamie insisted he’d done what he had to, sent her in as blind as possible so that Baelish wouldn’t suspect, would fall to trust her.

Baelish was becoming part of the current case, and she had the best read on him, Jamie argued. He swore from that moment on she’d be on the same level with him. She believed him, but she still wanted an apology. She would likely never get it.

She took a deep breath, and prepared to face the monster again.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> also! heavily borrowing from the official script for important lines and bits, as my memory sucks and i have not got access to a copy of the film.  
> playing fast and friendly and loose with canon of both fandoms, so just fyi.


	10. The Dawn   (part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the long...long second part and conclusion to the Silence of the Lambs AU.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #oops is a slogan for my entire life right now. this got long and out of hand and i apologize for the wait. if theres typos its because im on benedryl and i can't see things as soberly as i can usually.  
> but i wanted to post this for you SINNERS enjoy xoxoxo

Petyr had seen the interview on the news, caught the last bit of it when his television had popped on precisely at eight o’clock, and would stay that way for exactly an hour. He’d seen the blonde haired witch giving her heartfelt speech over her brat, repeating his name over and over again, attempting to make an impression on the killer. On Victor.

It wouldn’t work, but he commended her effort, silently. By the time the screen switched off, night fell, and then it was morning, and all Petyr had done was count the squares in the ceiling, waiting for the inevitability that was Sansa’s footsteps.

He played it cool when she finally rounded the end of the hallway, sketching languidly at his makeshift desk. He’d gotten almost everything back the way he’d had it, all due to her, he knew.

“Doctor B-“

He interrupted her smoothly,

“You’re an odd choice of messenger for a United States Governor, wouldn’t you say?”

Sansa’s steps faltered and he was certain she was gaping at him. Like the most attractive sort of fish in the ocean.

He smiled.

“I was your choice Doctor. You chose to speak with me. Would you prefer someone else now? Or perhaps you don’t think you can help me…”

Petyr looked up finally from his pad, which was what he knew she wanted. But then again, she always had his _undivided_ attention.

“That is both presumptuous and incorrect…Tell me, how did you feel when you saw Victor’s latest effort… or should I say, his calling card that had been there all along?”

Sansa licked her lips, seemingly before she could stop herself, and he merely blinked, appearing unfazed.

“How—never mind. By my books, he’s a clear show off. He’s trying to be clever. Gold coins in the mouths, like some kind of religious affiliation.”

Petyr sighed, and shook his head slightly, eyeing her as she began to take a seat in her usual spot, not noticing how the chair was inches closer to his bars.

Her scarlet hair was twisted into a braid on one side, giving her more the look of an exotic mermaid. He loved it.

“Life is too slippery for books Sansa. Cancer and kittens came from the same God. Tell me, his first victims, were they minors, like his latest?”

The boy was still in high school, barely able to drive, but the others, they’d been girls, and as such, kept a little more hush-hush. Rumor had it that he’d drugged them while they’d been drinking underage in bars.

Sansa glanced down at herself, at the bunch of papers she clutched to her chest, and then nodded.

“Yes.”

“Indeed. So this is the first time he’s deviated from his M.O. Chosen a boy. The same age, but, completely different sort of target. I wonder why…”

Sansa’s brows pinched,

“Are you suggesting that his motivation _isn’t_ some kind of power play? Not sexually motivated?”

Petyr bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too soon. She was utterly enchanting, guiding the conversation just how he wanted it to go.

“I’m waiting for your offer Sansa. What have you there?”

Instead of answering, she pressed on.

“Tell me, what was your motivation? Your first killings were completely random, or so they seemed, until your wife.”

Petyr’s jaw tightened,

“Ex.”

Sansa’s blue eyes might have held a gleam of pride,

“What did she do to offend you so? To deserve a death like that…to deserve _death_?”

Petyr admired her courage, but it was almost annoying how easily she got under his skin.

“She cheated on me. With my former best friend. Ex wife, ex friend.” He couldn’t surprise a slight chuckle, “So I killed her. Very biblical, very apropos considering your current manhunt.”

He smirked then, and watched as her smug expression melted away.

“But your friend was allowed to live.”

Petyr shrugged,

“She’d seduced him, so I gave him a pass. Tell me. What was your first time like?”

He grew bored of her interrogation, so he flipped it back onto her. Her eyes widened in surprise, before she relaxed into a smile, oh he had her now.

“My first? I haven’t killed anyone.”

It was like a joke.

Oh the poor thing.

Petyr grinned wider,

“Your first sexual partner.”

Her jaw dropped before she could stop it, and a blush pinked her cheeks. Check and mate.

“That’s none of your business.”

Petyr tilted his head, and rubbed his thumb along his bottom lip, snaring her gaze like a rabbit in a trap,

“I think you forget what we are…tit for tat. You tell me things, I tell you things, even though right now you owe me doubly so. I suppose I can let it slide…this time, if you tell me about what you have in your hands.”

He blinked, slow and steady, before pulling his hand from his face, and then focusing his gaze entirely on her.

Sansa swallowed, and then lifted the papers.

“If you help us find Vicious Vic in time to save Joffrey Lannister, the Governor promises you a transfer to the V.A. hospital in the Vale park, New York, with a view of the woods nearby. Maximum security still, of course, but you’d have reasonably good access to books.”

She stood slowly, graceful like a dancer, placing the bundle of papers into the drawer, her hand stilling atop the handle,

“Best of all, one week a year you’d get to leave the hospital to go here.” She paused, and lifted one sheet, a black and white print of a map page, “The Fingerlands. It’s actually an island, and every afternoon of that week you can walk on the beach, or swim, for up to one hour. Under SWAT surveillance of course…”

Petyr kept himself as still as possible, though his mind was already calculating routes, planning loopholes, declaring it all madness, before continued, seeming to hate the silence.

“There’s a copy of Vic’s file, and a copy of Governor Lannister’s terms. Her offer is final, non-negotiable; if Joffrey dies…you get nothing.”

She pressed on the drawer, closing it on her end, and sending it through to him.

Petyr got up suddenly from his chair, and her eyes followed the movement, but she didn’t retreat even an inch.

“The Fingerlands…sounds charming if a little phallic.”

Her mouth twitched, just for a second, and he saw her jaw move. She was resisting the urge to comment.

“It’s just the name of the island. There are a handful of them, so they caught that name. It’s clever really. It’s beautiful, there are mockingbirds that nest there, so I’m told.”

“’So you’re told,’ then you haven’t actually been there, you can’t know for certain if it’s beautiful…”

He dragged his gaze up from her exposed legs, below her very prim A-line skirt, black, and all the way up to her exposed collarbone.

“If I help you Sansa…you will answer my questions. All of them. Yes or no…Joffrey awaits, tick-tock, tick…tock.”

He met her eyes, and he found her blue orbs not at all angry, merely amused.

“Very well Doctor. Go ahead.”

She took her seat again, hands now empty, so she clasped them in front of her, and rested them on her thigh, crossing her legs.

Petyr echoed her movement, returning to his chair,

“Tell me, your worst childhood memory.”

Almost imperceptively she flinched, and he leaned forward.

“The death of my father.”

Petyr blinked,

“Don’t lie to me.”

Sansa looked stricken, and he bit his tongue. He shouldn’t have doubted her.

“I’m not…he was shot by a burglar, one had ventured upstairs, while the first ransacked the house, and before mom could get to the rifle in time, he was lying on the floor, I can still hear my sister’s screams, along with the sirens…”

She shivered, and her eyes squeezed shut for just a moment, before opening back up, returning to full alertness.

“Was that what made you join the police force, then seek out the FBI? Wanting to save lives like you couldn’t save his?”

“Yes.”

She spit it out, almost snapped, and he smiled, careful, gentle,

“You’re very blunt Sansa. I think…it would be quite something to know you, in your private life.”

For something of a moment, the air stilled, thick and heavy between them, and he saw her eyes dip to his mouth, before immediately back up to his eyes.

“The gold coin is more than just a token. It’s a symbol for him. Something he once desired now gifted to the dead.”

Sansa frowned,

“Why? Some kind of ancient held belief of the afterlife? A moral compulsion?”

Petyr broke the stare, glanced down at his fingernails, and shrugged,

“He hardly respects the dead, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Then why?”

Petyr licked his lips, and flexed his hands,

“After your father’s death, you had to take on the burden of helping raise your younger siblings, you’ve had a gap, a need for a paternal figure, how has that effected you?”

Sansa blinked, almost angrily,

“No…tell me why?”

Petyr smirked,

“Is it why you surround yourself with handsome older male colleagues, but restrain yourself from seeking out your own desires?”

Another blush kissed the apples of her cheeks, and she dropped her gaze to the floor, to her shoes. Scuffed black leather that looked terribly secondhand. But polished with true care.

“I doubt the answer is on those hand-me-down shoes Sansa.”

Sansa inhaled sharply, and then slowly let out the breath before speaking. She was trying to remain calm. He’d shattered her cool.

“I don’t know…I guess, yes, I haven’t ever had a serious relationship that lasted beyond a few months. I can never make a real connection.”

Instantly, he found her eyes on him again.

His narrowed,

“You’re very clever Sansa, you’re so close to catching him, you don’t even know. I will be thinking of you when I take my first plane ride in seven years. Goodnight to you.”

He spun around in his chair, and focused again on his drawings. It was half done, and when complete, would be his best yet.

Sansa remained still only for a moment before standing, another angry breath huffing from her lungs.

“Good night to you too Doctor.”

She couldn’t scare him.

She was in too deep.

He smiled and picked up the piece of charcoal.

*

So close. So close?

What did it mean?

He was utterly infuriating, and Sansa was determined not to let him get to her, but it was far too late. She hated being alone with Jamie for too long, for she was certain he could see it on her face, maybe even smell it on her. Well, maybe not, no one could smell quite like Doctor Baelish.

She was being slightly paranoid.

The plane ride to examine the last body found had been stressful enough as it was, and bundled with the fact that it turned out to be the very first victim, but weighted, and dumped in a deep river, nearly impossible to have any remaining evidence in, besides the strange gold coin. The insignia was of a coiled dragon, and it had no other markings besides that.

It was no currency of any known society, and had to have been created from hand by Victor himself. The only question was, where had a serial killer gotten enough gold to mint his own ounce coins?

It was a clever calling card, almost wasteful in extravagance, so clearly the killer wasn’t lacking in money, but amusement. He was killing because he was bored!

Sansa knew that must have been what Baelish meant by her getting close. Now all she had to do was research who could have such a disposable income, and any sort of connection to dragons, foolish as it might have sounded.

That didn’t take long. It turned out that only a couple colleges had a dragon as a mascot for a Fraternity, and even fewer were within fifty miles.

“We’re going to nail this sonofabitch.”

Sansa murmured to herself, while on the latest flight to her next stop.

The plane had just landed when her cell phone chirped, and she saw it was Jamie calling.

“Hey boss, what’s up?”

She winced at her own casual greeting, and then again when he barked in her ear,

“Cut the bullshit Stark. You’re in trouble. My sister never authorized any sort of deal with Baelish, and now he’s making a fuss that they aren’t rolling the red carpet out for him, but luckily, I have managed to persuade her _not_ to level suit against you, and to indeed offer Baelish a new cell with a view, I’ll hear your thanks…”

He paused, and Sansa rolled her eyes, grateful for once that he couldn’t see her and get annoyed.

“Thank you sir.”

“Great. She’s going to meet with him, and if he gives her the proper name for this _Vicious Victor_ , and his information leads to finding Joffrey, _alive_ , and the whacko’s arrest, then he’ll get his deal. Until then, he will be held at town hall, and with round the clock watch. This whole thing stinks to high heaven Stark, you’re lucky I like you.”

Sansa blinked and then sighed in relief. She knew exactly where they’d be holding Baelish, and it wasn’t too late to get one last session out of him before the final 24 hour window began.

That was when it would be paramount that Joffrey was found, for Victor would always kill three days after taking a victim, and she did _not_ want to make the front page, not that way.

“Yessir.”

“I know what you’re thinking…”

Sansa hummed,

“Sir?”

“This whole thing was my idea. Sending you to see Baelish. I admit it, I take full responsibility, but the shit show that it’s about to turn into was out of my control.”

“Yes sir.”

“All right well good luck to us all.”

Sansa inhaled sharply,

“Yessir.”

The line clicked dead and she pocketed her phone, heading for the first taxi she spotted.

By her calculations, she’d reach the edges of the city just in time for Baelish to be returning to his makeshift prison for the night, if all went well.

She trusted him too, in a way. He wasn’t stupid. He wanted what he wanted and he would ensure he got it.

It didn’t occur to her until she was preparing to face him again that the odds were growing stacked in favor of _her_ being one of those things.

She only had to bullshit the few rent-a-cops surrounding the Hall, and from there it was a cakewalk. The disgusting pig of a guard from Baelish’s old prison was nowhere to be seen.

“Hello Sansa.”

His voice drifted across her ears, and she hadn’t even stepped into his field of view yet, she’d just crossed the threshold of the door, police tape now appearing, stark yellow and black in contrast to the warm wood interior of the rest of the building.

She gulped.

“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable here Doctor.”

He chuckled softly, and she moved as close to the tape barrier as she dared, fingers lightly grazing the taunt edges.

“I have indeed. I can’t believe how you lied to me…right to my face.”

He leveled his gaze at her now, his body aimed directly towards her, sitting at his makeshift desk, would-be-paintings or sketches scattered over the cell.

Gentle piano notes of classical music could be heard playing, and she wondered how he’d managed to get a radio.

“I’m sorry. I really am. But we were out of options.”

He shrugged, and his green eyes slipped away from her face, drinking in the rest of her, and she fought the urge to shrink in upon herself. She was hardly dressed in the usual FBI business attire, having skipped her hotel, and ridden straight to see him.

People would think the worst.

Baelish spoke, as if reading her very thoughts,

“They’ll say we’re in love. It’s a pity…poor Joffrey…”

He spun away from her, facing the opposite wall, forcing her to move, following the tape, tracking him.

“Tell me, did Jamie send you for once last prodding, before he takes you off the case? Lest you incur his sister’s wrath?”

She stopped, once again parallel with him, and his face was almost simpering, mocking her.

“No one sent me. I came on my own.”

The instant the words passed her lips she could have bitten her tongue off. Baelish’s face became very still, and then one side of his mouth twitched up, the ghostly half of a smile.

“Oh…now that would be something to see…”

Sansa fought every fiber of her being to ignore, to press on,

“You know everything, don’t you? You couldn’t have talked with this, Dan Travis, just once, and left knowing so little about him…you made him up, didn’t you?”

Oh yes, she’d found out about what he’d told Governor Lannister. The little cop who’d escorted her to Baelish’s cage had been quite talkative, especially when she’d flashed her full watt smile at him.

Baelish almost looked impressed, until he began to smirk again,

“Sansa…you’re hardly in the position to accuse me of lying…I know things that would make your hair curl. Not that it’s not quite pretty as it is now.”

Sansa blinked,

“Try me.”

Baelish instantly leaned forward, his hands meeting, fingers interlocking below his chin,

“Your boss, and the Governor are more invested in this case than you think. The golden boy isn’t just her son, he’s _his_ son too.”

Enigmatic, that’s what his smile turned into.

Sansa felt goose bumps break out on her arms.

“What?”

He couldn’t possibly mean what she thought he did…Jamie wouldn’t…he would never…he was an upstanding citizen, and Governor Cersei was…married to a perfectly well off Senator…

“I can almost see the wheels in your head turning Sansa. Shall I fill in the blanks for you?”

Baelish interrupted, and Sansa shook her head.

“I think…you were telling me the truth, the last time we met…or starting to. Tell me the rest, now.”

Distract, deter, delay.

She was doing her utmost.

She needed to focus on the _case_ , on him, not the burgeoning storm that threatened well, everything that she held dear.

Baelish sighed, almost wearily.

“I’ve studied the case file…have you? Everything you need to find him is right in those pages. Whatever his name might be.”

Sansa bit the inside of her cheek until it ached,

“Then tell me.”

Whisper-shouting was what her mother would have called it, but he was frustrating her to no end. She could see it on his face, the smug bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

Her hands balled into fists, and suddenly, for one flaming moment, she didn’t know what she wanted more, to bash him in the gut, or kiss the snot out of him.

Wait, what?

“First you must ask yourself, what is it, what in nature does this man do? This man you seek.”

Sansa barely heard herself answer through the roaring in her ears,

“He kills teenagers, almost adults-“

Baelish stood up sharply, and banged a fist on the table, making her jump.

“No. That’s incidental. Age doesn’t matter. It’s availability.”

Sansa blinked, and when she looked to him again, focusing desperately through hurried blinks, she found he was clinging to the bars, leaning towards her as close as he could. A mere yard, three feet, separated them now.

She licked her lips unconsciously, and his green eyes darted to follow the movement, before he continued,

“What is the first thing he does, what need does he serve by killing?”

She tried again,

“Anger, social resentment, lack of motivation, sexual frustr-“

Baelish dared to roll his eyes at her, and she bristled at once, but didn’t retreat.

“No. He covets. He has everything money could buy him, yet he still _wants_. What does he want? Make an effort to answer Sansa.”

Her hands were still balled up,

“He wants-“

“What?” Baelish practically snapped at her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, as if it would make it easier to think with his own eyes so heavy upon her,

“He doesn’t have to work, or doesn’t gain fulfillment from it, he needs to be entertained, to be seen, to be-“

She broke off. Experimentation sometimes manifested in college, and from then on it wasn’t always the clearest.

“What is the one thing they say that money cannot buy?”

Baelish asked his voice barely above a whisper.

Her eyes opened slowly, and they locked with his.

“Love.”

He was smiling at her, not cruelly.

“Adoration. Devotion. Something many in religions also seek and covet, don’t you think?”

Sansa bit her lip, and her arms crossed, hands finally forced to relax,

“But-“

“No. It’s your turn to tell me something. You don’t have any more vacations to sell on the Fingers. Why did you come see me tonight?”

Sansa blinked, feeling more than ever like a deer caught in the headlights.

Her skin burned, and her scalp tingled as something hot seemed to bury itself in between her legs.

Her hands trembled, and so she pressed her sweating palms together as tightly as she could.

“I knew there wasn’t much time, and I’m very close to solving it, but I had to see you one last time before this is over.”

Baelish’s expression was rapt, and he merely said,

“Don’t lie to me. Tell me what you’ve left out about that night when your father died. Be honest.”

Sansa would have probably told him anything in the world beyond that in that moment. But she couldn’t hold back now.

“The sirens came too late. They killed my mother too. I was the one who had to shoot the two men before they could just run away, before they could try to escape.”

“What happened?”

Sansa’s voice quavered,

“I did it. I pulled the trigger, and shot the closest one. The second was coming up the stairs…I thought. But it wasn’t. He’d already gone. The police did catch up to him though…later.”

“Who did you shoot with the second bullet?”

Sansa’s face was cold, she knew she probably looked deathly pale, but it was there, in the town hall, before him, that she was plunged right back into that night, like it was yesterday.

“My brother. My older brother. I can still hear my sister screaming. _‘You’ve killed Jon…’_ ”

She brought a hand to cover her mouth, and she felt tears pricking the corners of her eyes.

It had been so long, so many months and years of mandated therapy, and she’d never once told a soul what had really happened the night she and her sister and younger siblings became orphans.

They’d been so young, besides her sister, she’d let them grow up believing the robber had shot her three family members.

But no.

Sansa thought her knees might give out, but for something in front of her, in the haze of her blurred vision.

She blinked.

It was Baelish, he was holding out his hand, breaching the distance between them.

“Thank you Sansa. I can see how hard that was for you.”

She reached out to meet his hand, but stopped just an inch short, lifting her watery gaze to him.

“Tell me his real name Doctor.”

Baelish’s eyes darted away from her, and his hand dropped.

Sansa gulped.

Heavy footsteps, and a voice questioning her credentials.

That was the end of that.

She looked to Baelish, desperate.

He moved to his desk, plucked a sheaf of papers up, and held them out to her, between the bars,

“Your case file on Victor, I won’t be needing it anymore.”

Sansa nodded, somewhat numb, as the footsteps grew closer,

“Thank you.”

Baelish’s eyes dropped to her lips for a moment before rising back to her eyes, and she could see it, crystal clear, there was true empathy there.

“Brave Sansa. Will you tell me why you came to me, some day?”

She reached out to accept the file, and for a split second, her fingers brushed his hand, and she felt something like a spark pass between them.

The moment faded, and there was a rough hand gripping her arm, dragging her away, but all she could see was Doctor Baelish, and she nodded, pushing the words past the lump in her throat,

“Yes. I promise.”

She saw him nod, clearly in appreciation of her honesty.

“Goodbye Sansa.”

*

It was almost a delight, escaping from the buffoons who’d attempted to perform their most dangerous guard job. Watching him.

But after the way they’d treated Sansa, he couldn’t possibly let them live. Cutting off the one’s face and wearing it rather like a mask had been the special reward for the one who’d dared put a hand on her, and he’d seen her wince from the man’s strength, so really, he’d brought it on himself.

Petyr smirked, and then turned his eyes back to the road, momentarily reliving the last instant they’d shared.

He’d touched her, and it had been like a supernova of sensation even for such a brief second, and he knew she’d felt it too. The way her sapphire eyes had widened, and her lips had parted, had there been nothing between them but space, he’d have swept her into his arms and kissed her breathless.

The thought thrilled him. Now it was less of a fantasy and slowly becoming closer to a reality. He was free, and he was on his way to sit out the rest of the case, watch her do her job, precisely well and thanks to his aid, then he would finish off his loose ends, destroy that imbecile of a guard who’d taunted him before he got to really leave the shithole of a prison, and the true fun would begin.

Awaiting Sansa’s pleasurable company yet again.

He’d kick off the whole thing, the date, with a phone call of course.

It was tradition after all.

He glanced to the dashboard, and calculated.

Just twenty hours left now. Joffrey would be running out of air and the gold would be in the process of melting to form the special coin that would be Victor’s greatest signature.

Petyr hummed, the piano piece that had played while Sansa had walked in, just before she’d spotted him. He let himself get lost in the memory as he merged onto the highway.

Once again, time seemed to move at a different pace, with night melting into day, and he trusted that Sansa would be doing her utmost to catch Victor, and he would be nearly at the guard’s house. He’d stolen his wallet on his way out of the prison and the fool hadn’t even noticed when he slipped it back after memorizing his address from his license.

The man hadn’t yet returned from his little jaunt out to the courthouse, where he thought Petyr was, for when he did, he’d have a wonderful surprise waiting for him. Petyr would finally have a decent meal. He smiled tightly, and pulled into the driveway.

The entire affair didn’t take longer than a handful of hours, and by the time the sun was far to the west, nearly dipping down, Petyr finished his cleaning of the deceased fool’s house, for he was anything but a rude guest and then plucked up the discarded cell phone, easily finding Sansa’s number. How he’d gotten it was anyone’s guess, but he was certain she was unaware he had it.

The line only rang a couple times before her voice echoed a greeting in his ear, unusually cheerful. So she’d caught him then. Petyr almost laughed in amusement.

“Hello Sansa.”

She seemed to have frozen.

“Doctor Baelish?”

Her voice was a hushed whisper, so she wasn’t out to reveal him then? Interesting.

“Well, has the golden boy been saved, and justice reigns once more?”

Sansa hiccupped on the other end of the line, like she was choking on a giggle,

“Yes. I guess so. I ended up having to shoot Victor…er, Arryn, was his real name. But Joffrey is perfectly safe now. They’ve thrown me a party, instead of firing me like they threatened.”

Petyr almost beamed,

“I’m delighted to hear that Sansa. I’m proud of you.”

“Where are you?”

She asked suddenly, and he paused, wondering how much he should reveal.

He was technically less than a half hours drive away from where she was likely at, if she was indeed in the Lannisters mansion outside of the city.

“Somewhere with a view.” He finally decided on, and he looked out at the backyard of the house he was preparing to depart, before continuing, “But tonight, I could land anywhere. Why do you ask? Trying to trace my call?”

His voice took on a rougher edge, and he hoped she understood the warning. He’d hang up and smash the phone if she threatened anything, but she didn’t.

Instead, she surprised him beyond his wildest dreams.

“I bet you wouldn’t tell me that to my face…that you were proud of me.”

Her voice only quavered a moment, before her last words were smooth as they all should have been.

Petyr blinked, once, twice, and then answered,

“If you’re prepared to let me take that challenge, you’ve got a date Sansa. Ten o’clock tonight, your place?”

Sansa fell silent, and he wondered if perhaps he’d pushed her too far, but then she breathed,

“Okay.”

“The world is an infinitely more interesting place with you in it, you’ve nothing to fear from me.”

“I know. But how do you know where I live?”

Petyr smirked,

“I have my ways. You once said I knew everything. You put a lot of faith in me to be all knowing. I wish I was.”

“I look forward to finding out just how much you think you know about me.”

“Promise you’ll tell me about your motivation for our last meeting?”

“Of course.”

She said almost in a rush, immediate.

He knew he had her pinned.

“Excellent.”

He hung up slowly, but she didn’t say goodbye. Perhaps she was simply too intrigued about their upcoming meeting.

He was nearly on pins and needles himself.

*

Sansa could hardly sit still as the hour drew close for his arrival. She had managed to keep calm enough for the rest of the party around Jamie and the Governor herself, though she was certain more than ever that it would be obvious from her face that she was preparing to commit the ultimate sin, in foolishness, in her work life, in her entire life perhaps,

Petyr Baelish, the Doctor of Death himself was coming to her home. Yet, she didn’t feel a single ounce of fear, more trepidation. Worry for what might happen, and what could happen, and also, what she desperately _hoped_ would happen.

That single instant of a connection they’d shared, across prison bars and yellow police tape had danced over the forefront of her mind all day and night now, even though many more pressing matters were at hand. Was she overdressed or under?

Should she break open a bottle of wine, or down another nerve relaxant?

No.

Then she couldn’t drink anything, and certainly wouldn’t be cognoscente enough to fight him off if he decided to try and hurt her.

Not that she thought he would.

There was always that chance, that single whisper of danger crawling through her skull, slinking down her spine, sliding under her skin.

Warning her to never really let her guard down for him. Drinking anything but water would really be a mistake around him, but she didn’t care anymore. She was incredibly tired of convention and doing what everyone else wanted. She was going to do what she wanted, and she was prepared to suffer the consequences full speed ahead.

She took a seat in the kitchen, finally halting from her pacing that had been going on for the last few minutes, and she smoothed the front of her skirt with somewhat shaky hands.

She’d chosen a plain black skirt and her sage blouse that she’d worn the first time she’d met with him, and she couldn’t help wondering if he’d notice.

The doorbell rang sharply, and she nearly fell out of her chair.

“Oh god.”

She mumbled to herself, not that she was a praying sort, but there was little chance that it could be anyone but him at such a late hour, and indeed, it had just clicked over to 10:00 according to her cell phone, kitchen clock, and the digital one above the stove.

The few steps to the front door felt like an eternity until she reached out, and turned the knob, opening the door to find the man himself, standing on her doorstep dressed elegantly in a black suit, holding a small bouquet of lilacs.

She could already smell them, and she instantly relaxed.

“Hi.”

She managed to get out, somewhat anticlimactically, and he smirked instantly, holding the flowers forward, like a shield,

“May I come in?”

Sansa retreated back inside the front hall, and as such moved aside to let him go by,

“Of course, please.”

Doctor Baelish stepped across the threshold, slowly, as if expecting to set off alarms, or be surrounded by armed policeman at any moment.

Sansa was about to speak, hollow words of assurance that weren’t needed when he spoke again,

“Your home is nearly as beautiful as you are Sansa.”

She gulped. That was fast. He was as blunt as he'd said she was.

“Thank you. May I take those and put them in some water?”

She nodded to the flowers, before closing the door and locking it carefully behind them.

Doctor Baelish looked as if he was trying not to laugh,

“Yes, please do. I picked them off some poor old lady’s garden hours ago, surely they’ll die of thirst if you don’t.”

He passed them to her, and once more, their hands, mainly just a brush of fingers made contact, and her entire body seemed to jolt with the energy.

“Would you like something to drink as well?”

It was a horrible segue of the conversation, just like the one she’d made once before the first time they’d spoken, but she was quite frankly in severe need of a glass of wine herself, so she hid behind politeness.

There was a sudden burning in her lungs that she wasn’t sure was from holding her breath or from how his touch had made her feel.

“Please. Do you have a Cabernet?”

Sansa smiled easily,

“Oh yes. It’s my favorite.”

Doctor Baelish tilted his head,

“Indeed? Well we have that in common then my dear.”

Once inside the kitchen, flowers carefully in a vase and wine poured, Sansa thought maybe she could start to relax again, but then no, the way Doctor Baelish was watching her, although flattering, was somewhat unnerving as well.

“Is everything all right Doctor?”

She swore she saw him wince, and she could have bit her tongue. She shouldn’t have called him that. It shattered the illusion that the evening was just another sort of evening that could have been shared with any gentleman.

“Sansa, as we are alone, I would implore you to try to call me Petyr. If you would do me the honor.”

His green gaze held hers for a long moment, before he looked away, pretending to study the calendar hanging from the side of the fridge, so that she could safely look away from him, and he could return to staring at her unashamedly.

She suspected she knew why.

“Of course, I’m sorry, Petyr.”

He was going to be the perfect gentleman after all. She would need to drink half the bottle of wine herself to live with the embarrassment. He would carry her to bed, and tuck her in, and steal away into the night.

It was all too disappointing to bear.

“Don’t apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Sansa lifted her eyebrows as she took a rather large gulp of the red, and he caught the look.

“What’s that?”

Sansa blinked, and swallowed, wincing herself at the bitterness.

“Petyr, well, it’s just that, this entire thing is wrong, isn’t it? I should never have challenged you to something so foolish. It just hammers home the entire thing. I’m completely beyond stupid. Thinking that…”

She trailed off, too mortified to finish the thought.

That was her first mistake.

He set his glass down and was at her side so fast, she wondered if she’d let the wine go to her head faster than usual.

She blinked, and one of his hands was on her arm, burning into her skin, though it was the gentlest touch she’d ever felt from a man at her side.

His other he brought to her face, caressing her cheek with care, and she bit her lip to keep from leaning into it. That wasn’t what he wanted. Wasn’t how things would go.

“Sansa, if you’re suggesting what I _think_ you are, there is only one thing left to say…” Her heartbeat seemed to thunder in her ears, and she feared she might not be able to hear him.

“I’m very proud of you.”

He was so close she could swear she could count his every eyelash, and freckle scattered over his cheeks, and when she tried to draw breath, she couldn’t.

His hand was cupping her face, and he’d leaned in to press his lips against hers, and there was a supernova exploding to a new kind of life inside of her mind.

What had just happened?

*

She was taller than him, by a few inches in her black kitten heels, and he’d suspected as much since they’d first met, and he’d let her sit down before standing in front of her. She’d always worn the cheapest looking sort of mary-janes. Flat shoes.

But tonight she had dressed up. For him, he hoped. He dared. He dreamed.

Those dreams could finally take flight now, as he held her to him, and drank her fears and siphoned her anxiety away with a kiss that he never wanted to end.

It was rather like a kiss of life after nearly drowning, and he felt his very lungs bloom in his chest when she sighed.

She felt small in his arms, despite the height difference, and he wondered just how the rest of her would feel under his palms. She was trembling, despite the wine she clearly drank for her nerves, and the tang of relaxant on her tongue told him she’d taken a pill or two for likely the same reason. She might protest she’d had a headache and it was necessary, but he knew better.

He didn’t judge her for it.

He’d nearly called her and tried to reschedule, in a way, half a dozen times on the way over to her house, suspecting the worst, expecting an ambush. He still had, the second he’d walked inside. Having her open the door, looking like that, perfectly fit to be tied and devoured hadn’t helped it one bit.

Even if it were still possible, that the entire evening could come crashing down and end back behind bars, he’d happily now, now that he knew just how Sansa Stark tasted and felt and sounded and fit into his arms.

When even his renewed lungs began to burn from lack of deep breaths, then and only then did he pull back, and let her go, slightly. He kept one hand possessively around her waist, and the other he reached for his glass, draining it in one swift swallow.

“That was…unexpected.”

She murmured, so quietly he’d never have heard it, if he hadn’t been inches from her, even with his attuned senses.

“Is that right? What did you expect was going to happen Sansa? You don’t invite a man over at such a late hour for a game of Uno, do you?”

He smirked at her, eyes gladly taking their fill of her, pink rising in her cheeks, the color blooming all the way down to kiss at her collarbone, and beyond, he was certain.

The top button was the only one undone in her blouse, and his fingers suddenly twitched to free the rest of them.

“Well no, but I was pretty sure that I was basically imagining that you wanted me too…beyond the game. I thought it was all just mind games, trying to trip me up, get under my skin…”

Petyr set aside the empty glass and brought his hand up to trace along the seam of her blouse, from her shoulder to her neck, and he felt her shiver beneath the touch.

“It was. But I didn’t ask or do a single thing lightly. It was a game yes, but in the end, the only thing I wanted more than freedom…was you.”

Sansa’s cobalt eyes seemed to have darkened, no doubt from the kiss and the new sensations,

“Really?”

The word was more a squeak than anything else, and Petyr nodded, hand shifting down to finger a stray crimson wave that had slipped out of her side bun, it was soft, so soft, almost like silk.

“Of course. Did you think less of me? I’m not some fumbling schoolboy who drools after every girl he sees. I’m a man of singular tastes, so they say. I’ve never gone after something I wasn’t certain I could attain.”

Not to say that she was some sort of prize or trophy to be won, but she was definitely beyond a room with a view, and that had been what everyone else believed he desired more than anything else.

Sansa, meanwhile, had likely never heard a man say such things in her lifetime, to her or about her, and she remained silent for a good moment before Petyr decided to prod her,

“Well? What are your thoughts my dear?”

She bit her lip, dragging her eyes away from whatever she’d been focusing on, so that she didn’t have to look him in the eye until that instant, and asked in a hushed whisper, as if ashamed,

“Are you going to fuck me now?”

Petyr’s hands tightened on her body almost of their own accord, one at her waist and the other at her shoulder. If it hurt her, she didn’t utter a sound, or even wince.

Childhood abuse, mild or severe trauma, meant it was easier to tune things like that out when happening in adulthood, pretend it wasn’t painful, it didn’t distract.

He decided that would be his way into her psyche.

The line between pain and pleasure needed to be acknowledged and demolished.

“No. But I am going to make you delirious with the force of your body’s limits of happiness. Do you trust me?”

She seemed to sway in his arms, and she only hesitated a moment before nodding.

“Yes, yes of course.”

That was worthy of another kiss.

*

Sansa had shown him to her room, her bedroom, and the mere idea that a _man_ was inside her bedroom and yet not forcing her onto the bed was quite the new experience. Instead he’d asked if she had a bathrobe, and to which she’d replied yes, and then he’d clarified, he’d need the tie, something soft, to restrain her on her desk chair.

That was probably a bad idea, a very bad one indeed, but she went along with it.

His hands, his fingers, every time he touched her, it was like he was trying to memorize the feel of her skin beneath his, and he lingered, even as he tied her wrists firmly, but not tightly, behind her, and he kissed her for a good minute and a half it felt, before moving away, and standing in front of her, looking down at her like she was some kind of obscene work of art.

He made her feel like that, and she secretly loved it.

“How fond are you of that blouse?”

His hands reached up to begin undoing his tie, and she watched, hypnotized by the movements, slow and steady, like a snake preparing to strike.

“Not really. The color is sort of sickening on me, out in daylight.”

Petyr, she had to get used to thinking of him like that, smiled, almost wickedly, and he then knelt down to slip her shoes off, lifting her legs to his shoulder, pressing soft kisses up the inside of her leg, before dropping it down slowly and doing the same to the other leg.

She was certain that she might burst into flames before he ever managed to touch her where she needed him to.

His tie was what would keep her ankles bound, she realized, after she’d blinked and found him standing in front of her again, now completely restrained. She should have been scared, at least a little, but she only felt anticipation itching along her spine.

“Now what?”

She gave him her best seductive stare, and Petyr let out a sort of giggle.

“You’ve got a toy here. Where is it?”

She knew what he was referring to, almost instinctively and she should have been embarrassed maybe, ashamed even, but she didn’t care.

“It’s in the drawer on the right side of my bed.”

“Perfect.”

He pulled it out and brought it over to her, only to set it to the side, and then return to her, falling back to his knees in front of her. He slid his hands up her thighs, keeping them over the fabric of her skirt, only teasing her worse.

“I want you to be able to beg, to cry, to scream if you need to. But if you want me to really stop, just say one word. Can you do that for me?”

She nodded, realizing that of course, she should have known that he’d give her an out, always. If he was telling the truth about how he wanted her, surely he was fond of her, cared for her…maybe even…felt something? Like he’d joked about it once.

‘ _They’ll say we’re in love.’_

“Just say my last name, if anything becomes too much. All right?”

She nodded again. But his hand was suddenly rough on her chin, grasping her face so that she was looking directly at him, into his green eyes, sparkling with something deliciously like danger. Why did she crave it?

“Say it aloud.”

“Yes…Petyr. I promise.”

His lips curved into a smirk, and his hand relaxed on her jaw,

“Excellent. Don’t be scared sweetheart, you’re gonna love this.”

There was a click, and then he was holding a knife up, the silver metallic gleam in the light of her bedside lamp almost glaring, and for a moment, a horrible moment, her heart clenched in her chest.

He brought the tip of the blade to where her shirt was still buttoned up nice and prim to three inches below the arch of her neck, and he dragged it downward, slowly, teasingly.

The sharp edge sliced through the fabric of her shirt like a hot poker through butter, and she found she could breathe again.

He didn’t stop when he reached the thicker material of her bra, leaving her completely bare from the waist up within seconds.

Her hands were bound, so of course she couldn’t hide from him, couldn’t shake her hair down to do any sort of good. She was exposed, and he actually stopped, held still, and simply stared.

“Sansa…I’m going to touch you now.”

She didn’t say a word, she just watched, and felt as he did just that, one hand first tentatively reaching to palm her left breast, as the other tucked away the pocket knife, and then moved to keep the right one from being left out.

She bit her lip to contain the moans that surely would have escaped her, for she hadn’t let any sort of man touch her like that in many long months, maybe even a year, and Petyr suddenly pinched one of her already hardening nipples between a thumb and forefinger.

“Don’t. Let me hear you.”

She opened her eyes fully, and looked right at him, letting her back arch, thrusting her chest further into his palms, and she groaned aloud.

“Feels so good…but I need more…please.”

Petyr wasn’t looking at her eyes now, he was following the jagged edges of her blouse down to the top of her skirt’s waistband, which, truth be told was digging into her stomach rather painfully from the way she was sitting. Primly as possible, but slouching a little to avoid the soreness that would arise from her arms pressing against the chair. Who knew how long it would be before her wrists started to go numb from lack of circulation?

“An hour at least. I won’t keep you that long…perhaps.”

Petyr murmured almost absentmindedly, and once more, she wondered how he’d managed to read her mind. Her face more like, she supposed. If she was being logical about it, he could probably figure out her, at least sexually, better than any other man on the planet had a chance in hell at doing.

“Are you ready for the next bit? It’s really going to make you squirm.”

Her neck snapped a little as she turned to look at him, as best she could, for he’d moved around to her side, and was beginning to press kisses, more and more insistently against her bared neck, for he’d pulled away her tattered blouse and torn bra, and his hands were slowly tugging her skirt hem up over her thighs.

“Okay.”

She managed breathlessly, eager and for what he had planned.

*

Petyr could scarcely believe it. She wasn’t just something out of his dreams; she was something right out of his nightmares and fantasies alike. She was going to drive him insane, though some would say he was mildly there already.

She was so luscious and pliable, and soft under his hands, so much bared skin, he could hardly wait to see it all turn pink from her arousal and the multiple climaxes he was going to wring from her nubile body.

She’d never been tied up before, he could tell, and likely if _anyone_ else on earth had dared to ask her, she’d have politely declined and secretly been disgusted with such a request. Surely it meant the man had a distaste for women, and a desire for subjugation?

Not in the slightest.

It was only when she was like this that her true potential could be realized. He’d just been grateful that she’d been in possession of just the sort of instrument he’d need to continuously keep her on edge, without fear of wearing himself out before he was truly ready to surrender to sleep beside her, for where else would he sleep after they’d coupled, several times if he had his way?

Now, only now was he finally beginning the start of the show, for although her breasts were indeed more glorious than he could have imagined, it was her cunt that he truly thirsted after. Not just to taste, no, for that would only come much later, when indeed, she had _come_ as much as possible.

He wanted to see how _she_ reacted to him touching her, laying her at her most bare, vulnerable, and possibly afraid?

He didn’t want to scare her, not at all, but he did want to push her, past what she thought she was capable of, and past what he suspected she could handle.

Her skirt was very attractive, and certainly made her legs look more appealing, but he knew she’d not miss it either, and besides, he’d gladly buy her a dozen shorter little delights if she but asked.

He palmed his knife again, and used it to discard the skirt completely, and to his utter surprise and secret pride, he found her naked beneath it.

She did indeed squirm slightly in her seat, and he immediately reached between her legs, finding her cunt practically dripping, hot and intoxicating in the air.

Tart and sweet like some sort of culinary confection. He couldn’t have been more pleased. Indeed, he’d been fully hard inside his nice suit for the last ten minutes and she’d been polite enough not to notice, or remark upon it. Then again, perhaps she was fully immersed in the game, playing the part of the damsel in distress well beyond his predictions.

“Is this for me?”

He asked, a truly rhetorical question, and he brought his fingers to his lips, unable to resist.

Sansa’s bottom lip quivered before she answered a breathy sigh that might have been a ‘Yes.’

Petyr licked his fingers clean, before pulling away from her, leaving her sitting there, perfectly restrained, fully exposed but for the green and black scraps of her blouse and bra clinging to her upper arms.

“I’m not going to touch you again, until you scream for me. I suspect this toy of yours has a far better track record with you anyway. I will not be competing with it. It’s merely going to warm you up.”

Warm her up it did.

The vibrator was one of the more sturdier models on the market, blessed with a long enough cord that he could stand behind her and press it between her legs to drive her headlong into her first orgasm of the night without indeed having to lay a hand on her, and when he heard that shuddering gasp that indicated her well on her way to a second, he yanked it up and away from her.

So that instead of a gasp of delight it was a sharp inhale of breathe in outrage.

“You…”

She didn’t finish the sentence, wisely.

Petyr smirked.

“Me.”

He wanted another kiss, and so he took it. But her lips were greedy as well, and even her teeth pinched at his bottom lip, and he could taste her smile.

“Time for another, I think.”

That became his mantra for the new few labored minutes, until he could see her legs shaking from the effort of remaining still as her bindings would keep her, and sweat had begun to crawl down her neck and chest.

Beads of liquid were kissing down the same pathways he would be delighted to follow with his own mouth.

He pressed on, harder and longer touches of the vibrator, until he was certain she was more than warm, she had to feel as if she was on fire, and still, she didn’t scream or beg or try to stop him.

But Petyr could see it, he could see that the safe word was trying to crawl out of her mouth, teasing the back of her throat and tongue.

He switches the toy off suddenly, and drops it to the side, and she slumps forward, spent.

“Have you had enough my sweet?”

He knelt beside her, not touching her quite yet, but brushing back a damp strand of red from her forehead, which was slicked with sweat.

“Yes.”

Her voice was shaky, and her eyes glistened with unshed tears.

His hands were quick on her ankles, undoing the ties, and then he moved behind her, swiftly cutting the rope there, and he caught her almost instantly.

She was not quite limp as much as she was shaky in his arms.

“Petyr…”

She was squirming and trying to kiss his neck, his lips, she was aching and trembling for him to touch her back.

He was just as desperate for her hands on him.

The torture she might imagine she had just experienced was only second to his own.

“Yes love?”

He gently placed her on her bed, and brushed away the remainder of her clothing, leaving her bare and beautiful to him.

Pulling back only to begin removing his own clothing, he awaited her commands.

*

Sansa would never have imagined such a thing was possible. Could she have died from feeling so much bliss?

For a moment or two, right up until the end, before he stopped, she thought maybe she could.

She’d been on the verge of screaming out his last name, ending it by force, but he’d whispered in her ear, so kindly, trying to get her to make him stop, she’d had to push on, had to defy him.

He kissed her finally, when he’d returned to her, fallen onto the bed beside her, deliciously naked at last, and it’s almost obscene how much she suddenly wants to have his cock in her mouth. Surely he won’t protest?

But when she tried to move down, to slide overtop him, and begin kissing his chest, and further south, she found her body refused to obey her.

She was simply too exhausted.

“Tomorrow. For now, you should rest.”

Sansa knew she was frowning, and how could she not?

He was trying to tell her no? After the orgasmic wringer he’d just put her through?

Hell no!

But when she tried to slap him, tried to fight him as he did half of what her boring fantasy had been, tucked her into the sheets with such care she might have cried from it, she couldn’t.

He enveloped her into his arms, pulling her to his chest, and placed a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“Goodnight my dear.”

“Petyr…”

Her eyes were fighting her, resisting the urge to press on, to stay awake. She was fighting a losing battle.

The blackness swallowed her whole, and with her last bit of strength, she nuzzled her cheek against his skin.

*

As if she’d fallen into bed after drinking too heavily, or had one too many muscle relaxants, Sansa returned to consciousness slowly, sluggish, like movement from underwater.

She realized quickly the reason she felt so constrained was because a strong pair of arms was encircling her.

 _Petyr_.

Doctor Baelish.

He’d come over. To her house.

Her eyes snapped open at once, and she fought the urge to squeal aloud.

He’d…

She flexed her legs, cautiously, and they ached with the sort of soreness from a long run, or a particular hard set of orgasms.

Her cheeks instantly began to heat, and she turned her head just slightly to see the man himself, snuggled against her pillow, breathing slow and deep, still lost in his dreams.

He managed to hold onto her well enough while unconscious so that was some kudos to him, Sansa decided.

But…

The night hadn’t ended quite fairly.

She had asked if he’d fuck her and he said he would! But…technically, she supposed he hadn’t exactly said yes to that question…he’d given a rather poetic and almost esoteric answer.

And made good on a promise.

She gulped.

He’d made her feel like no one ever had really. He’d lit her fire from within and stoked her into some kind of inferno.

She hadn’t yet returned the favor. She eyed him again, marveling how young and dare she think, innocent, he looked in sleep. He’d probably had a serious case of blue balls after just tucking her in last night…in fact…

Sansa hadn’t had a man in her bed, much less woken up beside one, in so long, she could forgive herself a little voyeurism. She barely shifted the covers, moving them _just so_ the sheet fell down Petyr’s bare hip, revealing his crotch completely to her.

Her eyes widened.

She clearly had not gotten a good look at him last night when she’d thought, or had she said aloud,  
(oh horror!) that she wanted him in her mouth. He was probably big enough to hurt downstairs and make her inelegantly gag upstairs.

Why was she thinking of her body like some kind of piece of architecture?

She was more like an instrument considering how well he’d strummed her strings and pressed her keys…er buttons.

Did sex usually make her so loopy and rambling? She couldn’t remember.

Then again, it _hadn’t_ even been sex. Not yet.

Unless he was planning to fuck her into the bedsprings before breakfast, which, if she was honest, he would be quite welcome to do, then there was still no sex in her future.

But she figured she wouldn’t write him off yet.

She went back to staring at him, not just his beautifully formed morning wood, but also how his hair seemed mussed, just from sleep, the silver touches at his temples giving him a sort of appealing maturity, along with the whole _, ‘kills and eats people’_ usually vibe.

Sansa sighed, more at herself than to herself.

Yes he was a killer, and yes he was dangerous, but so far, hadn’t he proved quite well that he wasn’t those things…to her?

She found herself reaching out to him, to stroke his cheek, and couldn’t stop herself before her fingers made contact with his skin. Oh well, that was it. The quiet moment of soul searching was about to be shattered, and the fuckening could resume, or technically begin.

Petyr’s green eyes blinked open slowly, and he seemed disoriented, only for a moment, before his lips parted in a sleepy semblance of a smirk.

“Sansa…you’re glowing this morning.”

How did he always manage to catch her off guard, even naked in her bed?

“Thanks, but I think that’s more due to you.”

He hummed slightly, and reached out a hand, echoing her position, but he stroked a lock of her hair, and seemed to study it momentarily.

“I doubt it. I suspect you always wake up looking like this.”

His hand left her hair, and instead of moving to her face like she expected, drifted down her shoulder to her bare breast, his gentle touch enough to make the nipple harden, and her breath hitched.

“What are you doing?”

Sansa managed to ask, despite mildly suspecting what his ultimate goal might be.

“Just starting the morning right, with a taste of perfection.”

Sansa gulped and watched as he continued to shift down her body, lips grazing where his hands couldn’t get to fast enough, and before long the fire from the night before was roaring to life inside her, and she ached for him between her legs.

The instant his lips made contact with her throbbing clit, she gasped suddenly and arched her back, pressing herself harder against him.

His palms flattened on her thighs first, and then gripped insistently, stilling her attempt to squirm away or maybe closer. She didn’t know anything but that he was driving her mad with delirious pleasure all over again.

But he was a mere man, and he would not succeed in distracting her from her ultimate goal, even if she vowed to make a detour by touching him thoroughly right back.

“Petyr!”

She cried aloud when she felt her orgasm overtake her, and his clever tongue and mouth continued to torture her, drawing out her climax until it was almost painful.

The waves began to subside, and he slowly returned to her side, wiping his mouth obscenely on the back of his hands, but not before licking his lips with obvious enjoyment.

“Dearest?”

Sansa practically pounced on him, throwing him onto his back fully, and she ground her hips down against his still hard cock, ripping a groan from his throat.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking what’s mine…isn’t that right?”

She arched a brow at him, waiting for his confirmation before attempting anything else, and he nodded slowly, green eyes darkening.

“You are mine as I am yours. Command me to do whatever you wish.”

Sansa grinned, biting her lip as she raked her eyes down his body,

“I wish…to taste you, then I wish to ride you until you beg for mercy.”

Petyr let out a growl, deep and low, feral almost.

“Granted in a heartbeat.”

His hand slipped into her hair and stroked her gently, helping her relax somewhat and also proving to be a clear gesture of assent.

She began to kiss his chest, savoring the way his breath seemed to come unevenly as he surrendered to the sensations she was stirring in him.

He’d done all the work the night before, and now she was going to thank him as best she could.

Her hand was already slowly working up and down on his shaft, feeling the slickness of his precome, surely he’d be just as mouthwatering as she imagined?

She hadn’t gone down on a man in so long, she was half scared she might have lost her touch, but judging by the way his fingers tightened in her hair, she had not.

She smirked around the head of his cock and gave him a long slow lick. Like riding a bike indeed. He hissed out something that might have been her name, and she squeezed her fingers slightly around the base, still rubbing all that she couldn’t fit into her mouth, which was a good amount.

He was quite well blessed, and it only made her wetter for him.

When he was truly breathing heavy and his other hand moved to stroke her cheek, she paused to look up at him.

“Hmm?”

She didn’t so much as drop him from her mouth as she let him slide out, slow and torturously.

“I want to come inside you. Much as I’d love to paint your face with my come, not right now.”

Sansa pretended to sigh impatiently, but she couldn’t hold back a smirk as she did as she was bade, climbing back up his body to hover atop him, gazing down at him with what she hoped was veiled adoration.

They’d danced around what they were all night and now, she wanted nothing more than to know that they weren’t just going to be fucking…that it would be something deeper.

Well…beyond _that_.

He pressed a hand to each hip, and slowly guided her down into him, and every inch he slid inside of her was utter bliss.

She bit her lip when she felt him begin to stretch her past what she’d been able to handle in months, and he paused, lifting a hand to cup her cheek,

“It’s allright. I’ll wait until you’re ready.”

Sansa hadn’t realized her eyes had closed, until she opened them to find him watching her, so sweetly,

“I’m okay.” She leaned down, closing the distance between them to seek out his lips for a kiss, and she relaxed down on him, taking him as deeply as she could.

It pinched and was almost too much, until he began to move, drawing out slowly and thrusting back up again, and the delicious friction began to build the tension along her spine.

It wouldn’t be enough to get her off completely again, but then again, right then was about him finally coming for her, so she didn’t mind in the slightest.

She parted her lips for his tongue to invade her mouth and she tasted a bittersweet something she knew to be her own arousal.

The kiss broke when she gasped at him managing to hit a particularly sensitive angle.

“Come for me. I want to see your face.” She found herself commanding in a husky whisper. Truly he was a horrible influence on her.

Petyr smirked at her, and then moved slightly faster, gasping out,

“I’ve been ready to come since last night sweetheart.”

Five more seconds of almost languid fucking, and he snapped his hips up into her one final time, before she felt a warm rush of fluid against her.

He’d pulled out of her just enough to coat her stomach and inner thighs, but it didn’t matter. The one thing she never had to worry about was birth control, thanks to the implant in her arm.

She couldn’t help pouting, somewhat selfishly.

“You didn’t actually come inside me.”

Petyr looked surprised, before his face melted into a satisfied sort of chuckle.

“Oh dear, I didn’t realize that I’d be condemned on a technicality. But think of it this way, now you need a shower. I need a shower too. Wet and naked, I think I might be headed for heaven.”

He winked at her, actually winked, before taking _her_ by surprise and flipping them over so he was now atop her.

A quick peck on her cheek, and then he was lifting her out of the bed, clearly preparing to do just that, carry her into the shower.

She decided it was probably a good idea.

They were both decidedly filthy.

*

“You still haven’t told me why you came to see me that last time.”

Petyr said conversationally, while fresh coffee was brewing, and Sansa was beginning preparations for a simple breakfast, eggs and toast and some kind of savory meat that was practically vegetarian for him.

They were both naked, fresh and clean from the lengthy shower during which they used all the hot water and even some of the cold.

“I didn’t? Well I should think it was obvious. You fascinated me, and I couldn’t quite let go of the idea of you.”

She tilted her head and red waves shimmered down her back as she turned, her smile an echo of his own.

Petyr knew then just how truly and royally fucked he was, seven ways to Sunday. He loved her, and he would be beholden to her until she tired of him.

They might destroy each other with their love, but oh, what a way to go, riding to heaven between her thighs.

Petyr stepped closer to put his arms around her and pressed a soft kiss to her lips, murmuring.

“The feeling is mutual my dear.”

Sansa smiled into the kiss before it deepened,

“Delighted to hear it.”

*

**END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> final quote inspiration:  
> http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/puscifer/rev2220.html


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